


13 Days to Survive

by Ishipit246, somebody_im_not



Series: apocalypse of the damned [1]
Category: Thomas Sanders - fandom, jacksepticeye - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, YouTubers - Freeform, Zombie Apocalypse, i am real sorry but theres death so if thats not your cup of tea you've been warned, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24858232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishipit246/pseuds/Ishipit246, https://archiveofourown.org/users/somebody_im_not/pseuds/somebody_im_not
Summary: “They’re zombies.” Mark tilted his head. “Also, they’re eating someone.  I think that’s something that needs to be addressed.”Dan raised an eyebrow. “Zombies don’t exist. There is literally no way zombies are real. It's probably just some elaborate prank.”“Dan, they are chewing her arm. I don’t think this is an 'elaborate prank'.”--6 guys. 1 apocalypse. And a whole lot of angst.This is a book about people who sometimes don't get what they deserve. Because sometimes, instead of getting what you asked for, you get a zombie apocalypse.
Relationships: Dan Howell & Phil Lester, Dan Howell & Phil Lester & Other(s), Mark Fischbach & Dan Howell, Mark Fischbach & Ethan Nestor, Mark Fischbach & Sean McLoughlin, Sean McLoughlin & Ethan Nestor, Thomas Sanders & Mark Fischbach
Series: apocalypse of the damned [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990525
Comments: 57
Kudos: 26





	1. Look, We Just Came Here to Film a Movie

**Author's Note:**

> hey fellas! um,, we're sol and kiki and this is the first fic we've written together. we were united in our common love of youtubers and resident evil and this fic is the result. hope people really like it!
> 
> no romances guys what do you take us for we're nice people. these are just 6 poor dudes trapped in a zombie apocalypse and maybe some of them will die what can you do? have fun!

**[Day 1, Afternoon]**

Daniel Howell never particularly liked his job. There were too many contracts and too many big headed twats who thought they were the most successful people in the world just because of a bloody degree. However, there were good parts too, definitely. After all, it was how he met his best friend, as well as the reason why he could visit places he had never been to before.

He was film director Phil Lester’s lawyer and best friend. Currently, the pair were in The McLoughlin Resort, one of the most famous hotels in all of Ireland. Managed by Seán McLoughlin, known in the business world by Jack, it was a popular movie shooting spot, making it the obvious choice for Phil’s latest movie.

“Cut.” Phil said into the megaphone. “Okay guys, let's take a break.” Adjusting his spectacles, he shot a smile towards the brown haired man who sat in the corner, who was clicking his pen in an absent minded manner. Dan was a tall man, curly brown hair and eyes that matched. His resting expression was sad and distant, as if he was thinking of something deep and heavy, like the meaning of life or the inevitability of death. For a lawyer, he dressed rather casually, with black skinny jeans and a dark jumper that looked just a bit too big over his lean build.

“You weren’t paying attention at all, were you, Dan?” Phil teased, playfulness dancing in his eyes. They were an icy blue-green, yet they held a certain warmth in them. His bluish black hair was styled in a neat quiff, and he was slightly shorter than Dan. Wearing a button up plaid shirt and black jeans, the smile on his face softened the angles of his face, making him feel warm and welcoming. Dan could practically see the light radiating off him, bringing joy and happiness wherever he went.

Mock defense appeared on Dan’s face. “Well excuse me for zoning out after 10 reenactments of the exact same scene.” Chuckling, the pair walked towards their hotel room, chatting along the way.

\---

Ethan Nestor loved his job. The pure thrill of flips, motorbike stunts and other daring actions constantly pumped him with adrenaline. So when he got to go to Ireland to perform stunts in Lester’s movie, he took up the gig immediately.

During his break, he decided to look for the hotel manager, Jack. He was a successful businessman, but unlike the other businessmen, he was quiet and distant. While others were drinking wine and socialising, he would stand at the side, polite to anyone who talked to him, but never attached. There were rumours, of course, there always were. Some people say that he was betrayed by a close friend, others say he just doesn’t like social interaction. Ethan didn’t really care for those rumors. He found them time consuming and disrespectful to Jack’s privacy. What Ethan wanted was to get to know some more people here. Sure, the rest of the film crew was nice and all, but meeting new people was arguably one of the better parts of his already extremely cool job.

He found him on the 2nd floor, outside the row of doors leading to the hotel rooms. He was on his phone, a hand casually in his jean pocket. Shaved at the side with a stylish amount of hair on the top, he looked very cool. Slightly taller than Ethan, he was pretty fit, as if he worked out. He wore jeans and a denim jacket over a plain T-shirt. At another side of the corridor, Mark Fischbach, the writer of the movie, was having an animated conversation with Thomas Sanders, the lead actor of the movie.

Ethan put on his friendliest smile and walked up towards Jack. “Hiya Mr McLoughlin. How are you?”

Jack looked up, a polite smile on his face. “I’m good, what about you?”

Ethan opened his mouth to respond, when suddenly, there was a scream. He blinked, confused. “Did you hear that?”

\---

Dan and Phil paused. “The fuck was that?” Dan furrowed his brows and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah! I thought the noise would stop if we weren’t in our London apartment.” Phil agreed, slightly milder annoyance visible on his face.

Dan opened the hotel room door. Happening upon Thomas, Mark, Mr. McLoughlin and one of the crew he couldn’t put a name on yet, he said, “Are you the lot screaming?” Thomas shook his head. The screaming, on the other hand, was getting louder, shriller. It started off as one scream, but now, there were more, like a grotesque choir, the screams now intermingled with groans and shrieks.

Jack turned on his phone. “Wait, I have access to the security cameras.” He opened an app, pressed some buttons and made a face. Turning his phone to the group, he furrowed his brows, cringing away from the screen with a look of pure disgust. “I have no idea what the fuck is going on but it’s disgusting.”

The phone was black and white, showing the lobby of the hotel. Vases of flowers were on the floor, smashed. There were glass shards on the ground and mysterious dark stains on the marble flooring. There were two to three people at the centre of the lobby and they seemed to be the source of the screams. Some of them were limping, bits of their flesh torn out. One was crouched on the ground, its body obscuring what he was actually doing but it seemed obvious to Mark at least, that it was chewing on a woman’s arm, ripping her flesh out with unnatural ease.

“They’re zombies.” Mark tilted his head, scrutinising the screen. “They have flesh missing, but they’re not bleeding. Also, they’re eating someone. I think that’s something that needs to be addressed.”

Dan raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms sceptically. “Zombies don’t exist. There is literally no way zombies are real. It's probably just some elaborate prank.”  
“Dan, they are chewing her arm. There is a chunk of her that is missing. I don’t think this is an 'elaborate prank'."

“It could be CGI.”

“It’s connected to the CCTV, how can it be CGI?”

Dan shrugged. “I’m just saying, there is a 99.9% chance that zombies do not exist.”

Mark ignored Dan. “Alright, so now we know what’s causing the screaming, so it's best to be prepared. Mr McLoughlin, do you have any weapons around here?” Jack nodded, running over to a random locked storage closet, before taking out the key and swiftly unlocking. He pulled out a shotgun and two handguns, and passed it out to the others.

Dan’s jaw dropped. ”Why the hell do you have a shotgun and 2 more pistols here?”

“Security,” was Jack’s simple response.

Phil gestured to the room and everyone went in, Thomas locking the door behind him. Mark continued with his instructions. “Right, since there's a balcony, we can carry the two mattresses and drop them down next to each other, to catch us on our way down.” He scanned the room. “Pick up whatever you think can be a good weapon, and maybe some food too.”

“Well fuck.” Ethan muttered under his breath. Slinging his shotgun, he began to drag the mattress of the bed onto the balcony. Shoving the handgun into his jacket's inner pocket, Thomas helped Ethan lift up the mattress, before throwing it onto the garden floor beneath them. Meanwhile, the others were running around the hotel room somewhat frantically, raiding the minibar of its drinks and energy bars, and making a bit of a mess. Phil had gotten a baseball bat, a prop from the movie. Dan, who had given up trying to prove his point due to a mixture of laziness and Phil’s debate skills, had gotten a Swiss army knife from his luggage.

Then, it started. Resounding thumps echoing through the room, the door vibrating ever so slightly. They were here. The soft groans were getting louder and louder, drilling itself into the minds of each and every person in that room. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay.” Ethan muttered under his breath. From what he could tell, he was probably the only one who had any kind of experience jumping out of buildings. He had to teach them, and fast. “Guys, quick, follow me.” They gathered at the balcony and looked at Ethan in a rather questioning manner.

“Right so,” He clapped his hands. “Jumping out of buildings 101. Basically, first.” He grabbed the ledge of the balcony and jumped over it, dangling from the edge. “You gotta dangle off the edge so that you won’t fall forever. The taller you are, the shorter the fall. Next, when you fall, make sure you don’t crack your head on the pavement. Roll on impact. Watch me.” He let go and gracefully, fell and rolled off the mattress. “See, simple!” He yelled up.

Phil swore he could sense a unanimous gulp from everyone on that balcony. He pondered. It couldn’t be that hard, right? Look at how confidently Ethan did it. So without a word, he followed Ethan’s actions, dangling off the edge of the balcony. His feet were swaying in the air. He took a deep breath, and let go. The next part of the fall was a bit of a blur. He could remember himself falling. He could remember doing a roll when he hit the mattress. And then, he was standing in front of Ethan, who had a proud smile on his face.

Thomas could hear the groans. Turning back towards the door, he could see a hand punch through the locked door. The hand was a sickly green, and its veins were bulging. Taking out the pistol, he aimed at the hand - zombie or not, he wasn’t going to pull off a headshot. He had experience using guns, because of his job as an actor. He turned off safety and pulled the trigger. The bullet shot through the air, lodging itself into the zombie's hand. The hand fell to the ground, detached. It twitched, and then stopped. Ew.

Turning back, Thomas realised it was just him and Dan on the balcony now. Dan was biting his lip, rocking from one foot to the other in an anxious manner. “Um, you can go first.” He offered Thomas. “I’d rather face “zombies” than a threat that could actually kill me.”

Thomas shook his head. “You go first. Quick.” Dan wiped his hands on his black hoodie, before clutching the ledge in a death grip. His knuckles were white and Thomas could see him trembling. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re the tallest out of all of us, no reason to be scared.” Dan nodded, hesitated, and slinged himself over the ledge. He took a breath, and he let go. Rolling off the mattress, Dan shakily stood up and made room for Thomas.

Finally, Thomas went over the ledge, pistol back in the jacket (with safety turned back on), and let go. He landed on the mattress safely and looked around. Dan had pocketed his Swiss army knife, face pale from the shock of jumping off a building. Phil was beside him, hand tightly clutching a wooden baseball bat. Ethan, Jack and Mark had their weapons a bit more casually in their hands, but Thomas could tell they were just as alert.

“Where are we going now?” Phil asked, voice laced with worry and concern.

Mark hoisted his shovel. “Away. Far, far away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked that! this whole story's been drafted out and at least half of it is written at this point so expect semi-frequent updates. also go nuts tell mark and thomas that we wrote this fic >:D (no dont do that it was a joke)
> 
> this is [sol's tumblr](https://solulater.tumblr.com/) and here's [kiki''s](https://ishipit234.tumblr.com/) since those are the only stuff we really interact on lmao.
> 
> comments, constructive criticism and kudos are much appreciated :3 most of the time it'll be me, sol talking to y'all but i speak for the both of us when i say god damn are we excited to go on this adventure with you guys. see you whenever next chapter rolls around!


	2. Mark's Tactical Shovel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Kiki here :) We're most likely gonna have 2 uploads a week, which is super awesome! Enjoy the chapter!

**[ Day 1, Late Afternoon]**

“So, Mark. How far away is far, far away?” Dan asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. He had already been forced to take off his black jumper, revealing a black and white striped T-shirt. They had been walking through the city for a whole hour, and for Dan, that was one hour too long.

“We’re going to Jack’s place. It's far away because the hotel is in the city. Jack has a house in the countryside. That means it's less populated and probably safer.” Mark replied, looking at his GPS. Mark and Jack were in the front, Thomas and Ethan in the middle, and Dan and Phil at the back (“Cuz, you know, if there were zombies chasing us, we’re the expendable ones.” Dan had said with one of his finger guns).

They trekked a bit more, weapons at hand. “So, what do we do if we see more zombies?” Phil asked, swinging his baseball bat by his side. “Do we kill them? Do we run?”  
“Well, er, from my knowledge of zombies,” Mark started.

“You have knowledge of zombies?” Ethan asked curiously.

“Ah, well, from my crippling Resident Evil hyperfixation,” Mark replied, somewhat sheepish. “Basically headshots, amirite? Just go for the head and we should be a-ok. I think anyway. And we should probably also organize our supplies and weapons more logically, because we literally just panicked and grabbed whatever shit we could find. There’s a park a couple minutes ahead, I think it's open enough that if we do see a zombie, we’ll know. That ok with y’all?”

Everyone nodded. When they reached the park, it was deserted. They found a grass patch and the five of them stood around it, while Ethan kept watch. Dan bit his lip, before explaining his strategy. “Okay so logically, we should take out the weapons and re-distribute. I think it's also better if we split up the rations. We have two backpacks so we can split the food in half. Right, so we have Phil’s baseball bat, my swiss army knife, one shotgun, two pistols and - a shovel?”

Mark shook his head, picking up the shovel from the ground. “No no you see, this is a tactical shovel. And if you don’t know what it is, buckle up, cuz I’m about to learn y’all about tactical shovels. This is a work of art. You think about art? Now shut up about that. Think. About. Shovels. Man has been using shovels to do pretty much anything since the dawn of time.”

Phil’s eyes lit up as he whispered into Dan’s ear. “This was the exact speech he gave me when I asked him why he wanted an actual tactical shovel in the movie.”

“This is my baby. This is, um, Becky. And Becky is a tremendous tool with a million and one uses. Do you know what a million and one uses mean? That means it can do about sixteen different things. So, it's a shovel. Duh. It can shovel things as in ice cream into my mouth. It can also-” He paused to unscrew the shovel’s handle, revealing a harpoon.  
“Kill people! This is a harpoon. Now when I said tactical shovel, I meant tactical shovel. You can use it for tactics, like fishing or hunting or harpooning. Harpooning in general. And when you take it into harpoon mode, it’s still a shovel! It’s still got the shovel part of it! That’s so cool! And this isn’t even just a shovel, it’s also a blade because it’s sharp. And it's sharp on the other side too so it’s an axe. So you can dig, as you chop, and then cut after digging. And then you can chop out the heart. And then you can dig out the spleen. And then you can slice it, into fine rippings after you're done hunting. I’m not going to discriminate on what you are going to be hunting with this. I said it had a million and one uses. I came up with a million. You can come up with one.” Mark’s excited gestures with the shovel in his hand forced everyone to take a step back, for fear of their own safety.

“Imagine! With your brain, that you are on the Serengeti plains, the plains of Serengeti. Serengeti. And you’re in the woods of Serengeti and then you are being stalked by something, slinking its way through a bush. You can hear it behind you, you can hear it around every corner. Oh, it thinks that you’re its prey but no! You whip out, right from your crack, your tactical shovel.”

Ethan muttered under his breath. “This speech scares me in the best way possible.”

“And yes, it can do anything. Not only are you getting stalked by this, but it's getting cold. The night air is blowing across your nips and you need fire. So what do you do?” He unscrewed his tactical shovel once more, before blowing into a whistle.

“You settle in for the night because the whistle blast obviously terrified the creature.” He unscrewed the bottom of the handle of the shovel, revealing a thin dark object. He gestured to it proudly. “But then, you pull out this!” Screwing back the whistle, he showed off his harpoon once more. “So then, you pull out your knife. Cuz it’s dark, it’s night, it’s cold. You need -” He shooed the people in front of him away, before rubbing the two items together, causing sparks to come out. “Fire. Okay, so you’ve got your knife and you’ve got your fire. It’s no longer cold and it’s no longer night, because you’ve got light.”

“That’s not how night works-”

“Don’t interrupt me, Howell. So now, the creature makes its move. But you’ve already chopped down the nearby forest, creating traps of various sizes and utilities around your camp. You’ve put torches, around a hundred square metre, around your base. Nothing can approach without you knowing about it, because you also set tripwires, from strands of vines that you sliced with the knife head and the axe edge, and then you dug a poop hole, for which you can poop in, without having to go into the woods, and worry about being ambushed with your pants down. It is the utility shovel, it is incredible, and I don’t need to justify why I chose this to anybody. I am making this declaration, that this is a useful tool to survive in all those survival situations that I find myself in every day. That is the tactical shovel. Thank you very much.” He bowed in an exaggerated manner, a proud smile lighting up his face.

Dan blinked, slightly confused. "What are you on about?” He opened the two backpacks that him and Jack were carrying, checking the items in it. “Okay, so who has any experience with guns?”

Only the two from England didn’t raise their hands. Ethan raised his voice. “Uh, I think that I probably have the most experience here since I actually have been kind of trained for this shit.”

Dan shrugged and gave him the shotgun. He ignored how the man immediately said, “Hoo, baby!” Rubbing his temples, he handed the pistols to Thomas and Jack since they were the other two that were not armed.

Jack looked up from loading his gun and asked, “What about you? You just have a tiny swiss army knife.”

“I’ll make do. Zombies aren’t fucking real, alright?”

“Your funeral.”

Dan made a face, before muttering under his breath. “I’m a depressed 29 year old, that’s right up my alley.” Phil hearing this, playfully slapped him on the shoulder.

“Come on, you’re not just a depressed 29 year old. You're a depressed 29 year old with a sense of humour!” He joked, earning a laugh from the said 29 year old.

Mark decided that the next course of action would be where to stay for the night, considering that their lodgings were now invaded and told the others as such.

“Could we just stay here?” Ethan suggested, gesturing towards the grass, trees and small shelters. “The park’s abandoned and there are plenty of shelters for us to rest in. We can take watch in pairs while the others rest. Ya know… Like the movies.”

Mark nodded, looking moderately impressed. “So, I guess it makes sense for Jack and Ethan to take the first shift cuz you two have the most experience with guns. Is that okay?”

The pair nodded. Another chance to make friends! Ethan wanted to exclaim. Hell yeah! He wanted to pump his fist into the air so badly, but it was alright. He grabbed the backpack on the floor, which contained rations while Jack picked up the other.

The others decided to go to sleep, seeing that it was getting late and they were exhausted from all the walking. “My suggestion is that we sleep together-” Ethan, Dan and Jack simultaneously ducked their head, stifling their laughter. Mark winced. “I should’ve heard that. I meant in the same area, goddamn it. So it's easier to take watch.”

Referring to his watch, he did some quick math. “It’s 10 p.m., so assuming we wake up at around 7 a.m., it’ll be 3 hours each pair. So, when you two are done, Thomas and Dan go next.” Dan opened his mouth in protest.

“It’s so each pair has at least one person who knows how to use a gun.” Mark explained. As the group settled in for the night, Ethan brought out the shotgun. Dang, this was good shit. It was sleek, with a metallic sheen. The shotgun felt heavy in his arms, but he had never felt so powerful. It’s so cool! He had used guns before, sure. But this was the first time Ethan was free with a gun. The power was so overwhelming, he felt a bit giddy.

Jack, seeing the subtle look of glee on Ethan’s face, gave him a small smile. “First time using a gun that isn’t for stunts?”

Ethan shrugged. “Kinda. Never got one so powerful before.” He gingerly touched the barrel of it, as if it’s power was too much to handle. “At least with freedom to use it however I want.”

Jack let out a soft chuckle, getting out his own pistol. “Yeah, that kind of power can be overwhelming. I’d know that for starters.”

“What do you mean?” They started walking away from the others in order not to bother them.

“You know...” Jack trailed off, looking wistful under the amber glow of the streetlights. “Sometimes, when people tell you you have power, when they show you the power… It gets to your head. Then, you realise…”

Ethan stared at him in a way that was somewhat curious, but not judgemental. “You realise what?”

Sean had never seen that look before. It looked innocent. Pure. But still, Sean shook his head. “Nothing.”

Don’t let him close. A voice in his head said cautiously. Don’t you remember? You can’t let anyone get close.

No one. He decided. No one will get close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we hope y'all liked this chapter! We got a bit of Jack's backstory, which is always fun :D Also half of this chapter was just mark's tactical shovel speech which i, sol, feel is important to note. 
> 
> Feel free to give kudos, comments etc, they always make our day!


	3. The Bite of '87

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tres, (god am i already running out of ways to introduce these chapters its only the third one)  
> anyway, yeah mayhem zombies and idiots enjoy :)

** [Day 2, Morning] **

The park was safe, but Mark had told them that staying at one spot, in the open, was too much of a risk. Thomas could understand this, and he accepted it, unlike Dan, who scowled and murmured something about the plan being stupid under his breath.

Getting out his pistol, Thomas looked around, alert and on his guard. He wanted to help, maybe find out what was causing the zombies. If he could just get a closer look, maybe even get some samples - he could finally put that chemical engineering degree to good use.

They started walking. “We’re going to Jack’s place. Be alert and remember, if you see any-” Mark paused, frowned, and wrinkled his nose in distaste, before turning around, a look of fear on his face. Thomas could smell it too. It was rotting, like the sort of odour you would smell when walking past a particularly foul trash can. There was something else too, but Thomas wasn’t quite sure what it was. It reminded him of something dark, something sinister. It certainly wasn’t something pleasant.

“Look out!” Mark yelled, before pulling out his shovel. Thomas, hearing this, turned to around. There was a cluster of zombies, so many that Thomas couldn’t even count all of them. They looked human, despite the greenish skin and bits of flesh missing. You could see their physical characteristics, as well as their clothing, both subtle nods to the lives these undead creatures previously had. But their eyes - their eyes were what caught Thomas’ attention. They were dead and emotionless, a diluted version of their past selves. It was as if someone had turned the saturation down. It resembled their past selves, but the monsters they had become were different. And with that justification, Thomas brought out his pistol, before loading it and shooting it.

The bullet hit one of the zombies in the face, causing it to stumble and slow down. It wasn’t giving up, however. Thomas began running, pausing every so often to shoot a couple bullets into the zombies head. This rush of adrenaline churned through his veins, and coupled with the fear of getting caught, made Thomas start to sprint even faster. 

The others were doing something along the same lines. Ethan was shooting shell after shell into zombie after zombie, nailing all of them right in the forehead, actually putting them down. Thomas would keep in mind just how effective the shotgun could be. Jack too was showcasing a lot of skill, bullets flying out of his pistol in quick succession. Mark was brandishing his shovel, using the sharp edge to whack any zombies that were a threat. Phil had his baseball bat out, clocking any zombies that came close. He was taller than most of them, so he seemed to be pretty confident about it. Running away, Dan was gripping onto his swiss army knife, unsure what to do with its tiny blade. Mark yelled in a sarcastic and almost mocking tone, “Are you sure these aren’t zombies, Dan?” Dan gave Mark the finger.

Soon, Thomas ran out of bullets and he just kept running. They weren’t in the park anymore, and they were now on the cobblestone street. Looking around, the others were running out of ammo too. Ethan had run out a while ago, and had resorted to just sprinting away. 

“Find somewhere to duck into! We ‘re all out of ammo!” Thomas shouted frantically, before looking around the different shops. 

Jack waved his arms in the air to gain everyone's attention. “Oy! I know this street! Follow me!” He ran to a shop and started fumbling with the doorknob. The zombies were getting closer and closer. 

“Come on… Come on…” He muttered, sweating nervously. Mark took out his shovel once more in front of Jack, telling him to hurry up with whatever he was doing.

Jack was doing a complicated mix of punching and twisting the doorknob, and soon enough, the door swung open, everyone rushing inside. "GET SOMETHING TO BLOCK THE DOOR!" Thomas yelled, back against the door in order to stop the zombies from entering. 

“MOVE SANDERS!” Mark yelled out as a reply, as he and Ethan both pushed the heavy reception desk to the door to keep it shut. Once it was finally closed, everyone gave a sigh of relief at the same time. 

"Fuck. Yeah." Ethan pumped his fist in the air, panting as he slid down the desk and sat on the floor. "We. Survived. "

Looking around, Thomas realised that they were in a shop that sold guns. It was a large room, but there weren’t any windows. The flickering orange light was the only thing illuminating it, casting an eerie glow. There were dozens of displays of guns, from machine guns to pistols. Bullets too. Dan noticed this too, furrowing his eyebrows and commenting, "Hey, why's a gun shop so easy to break into. I mean-" He held up his hands, as if surrendering. "I'm not questioning our luck (not that luck is an actual force). But, a gun shop is literally the worst kind of shop to have a crappy security system. Just saying." 

Jack shrugged. "The neighbourhood kids used to come here all the time. Smoking, drinking... Then it escalated to stupid dares like breaking and entering. I was invited, but I never accepted. I just- I just watched from the distance. This was the most popular spot." 

Mark chimed in. “Also, plot convenience.” He winked at no one in particular.

“What are you doing?” Thomas asked, observing Mark turn to the shelf filled with bullets, before winking at it. Mark responded with a careless laugh, before changing the subject.

“Anyways, lets get some weapons.” Mark opened the backpack and began grabbing handguns off the shelf. He tossed one to Phil, and another to Dan, before taking one for himself. 

Phil examined the foreign metal object in his hand. “I- I don’t know how to use this. How do you reload? Where’s the safety switch? Is there a safety switch? Do you put it in your pocket? Why do characters in crime shows stick it in their pants? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Er, I’ll teach you. Here. Yes. Sometimes. I’m not sure. A bit.” Ethan replied. He stood up and started pointing out the different parts of the handgun to Dan and Phil. 

Thomas started getting extra guns, a Glock 19 that was the same as the ones Jack had handed them originally. He grabbed a couple boxes of the 9mm rounds and passed them over to Mark, who stuffed them into the backpack.

“We should stop using so many bullets.” Thomas suggested. “Who knows when the next time we will stumble across bullets will be.” He examined a box of 20 gauge shotgun shells, before tossing a couple of them to Mark.

Mark zipped the backpack shut, looked around, and decided that everyone seemed to be done. “It looks like we’re good, and we might not be arrested for stealing all this loot. More good news; I can’t hear the zombies anymore. Wanna go? The sooner we leave, the sooner we can reach Jack’s house.” Everyone nodded in agreement.

Ethan and Jack started pushing the reception desk away, and Ethan opened the door, before gesturing the others out. “Whoo! We survived a mass zombie attack and got more weapons and ammo!” Ethan cheered, bouncing from one foot to the other excitedly. Filled with hyper active energy, he high-fived Thomas, who was the closest to him. Thomas laughed. Ethan was such a hyper, cheerful guy. He would miss him after this whole fiasco was over. 

So Mark continued leading the others, occasionally stopping to check with Jack if they were going the right way. They walked down the street, laughing and chatting, smiles on everyone's faces as they ambled along the road. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Thomas mused. He was surrounded by people who were nice and friendly, he had experience in guns.... He could survive this.

Thomas was just about to make a particularly witty comment when suddenly, he saw a little girl huddling at the end of an alley. “You guys go ahead.” He told them, before running to the alley and slowly approached her. The little girl looked around 6 years old, with two messy brown pigtails. She donned a pink dress and it was tattered and dirty. Her skin, Thomas realised, was a light shade of green and Thomas could see her veins running up her arms and legs, all the way to her neck. She was a zombie. A child one. 

Realising this, Thomas got out his pistol as she stood up, making groaning sounds that sounded far too similar to an actual child. Her eyes stared at him, pricking his conscience. Those big blue eyes gazing into his own brown ones, they intimidated him far more than the other adult zombies he had seen. Stumbling back, he found his hand was trembling. He didn’t want to hurt this child. She looked so innocent, so-

He forced himself to not scream. As he dwelled in his thoughts, the little girl had bitten him on the thigh. Her teeth, that were sharper than any normal human, pierced through his jeans and through his skin. The pain was excruciating. This wasn’t a regular bite, like Aunt Patty’s dog during Thanksgiving. This had something extra. Something that caused tears to well up in his eyes. Something that forced him to bite his lip so as to not scream. In this pain, he mustered up enough strength to aim at her, and then enough strength to pull the trigger. _Bang._ Just like that, before the little girl had the chance to rip his flesh out, the bullet went straight through her head. However, she was still twitching. After a couple more painful shots, she stopped moving completely.

Thomas wasn’t quite sure what hurt more, his leg or his heart. He had never shot anyone before, and now he had been forced to kill a child. His heart clenched at the thought. Turning to his wound, there was blood seeping through the thin material of the denim jeans, causing a large stain there. He didn’t want the others to know, that’s for sure. He could just picture the mixture of expressions he would be given, some disappointed, others annoyed. None were good. So he tore the bottom of his shirt and used it to wrap the area over his jeans. He would look over it later. He would deal with it later. And with that decision, he brushed himself off and hurried back to the others. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *evil maniacal laughter* we're so sorry (not sorry) to thomas for pulling this shit, you gotta wait and see for what'll happen next ;P


	4. #Exposed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is here! thomas be going through that good angst huh, let's see if he's been a good boy

**[Day 2, Night]**

“Ow ow ow ow ow.” Thomas stood in the bathtub, dabbing his thigh gingerly. He was _supposed_ to be taking a bath, but his thigh hurt way too much to even sink himself into the cold water. So instead, he was taking the cloth he found hanging on the door handle, dampening it, and using it to pat himself carefully.

The wound was still bloody, though less than before. Thomas could see the teeth marks, and he grimaced. What was he supposed to do with this? Wrap it to apply pressure? Clean it again? Don’t touch it? He didn’t know much about regular first aid, let alone zombie first aid. Well, based on general knowledge, he took the damp cloth and wrapped it around the thigh. His head was starting to throb, and coupled with the wave of nausea he was feeling, forced him to sit down. Running a hand through his hair, he felt the sharp jabs from the thigh. He shook it off, put on his clothes, and limped out of the bathroom. 

Outside, the others were tucking into food. Ethan smiled and waved at Thomas. “Hey Thomas, come get some food!” He gestured to the plate that had bread and another plate that had cheese and ham. Stumbling to the sofa, he made a sandwich and started eating it, trying to distract himself from his wound. However, though there was nothing particularly wrong with the sandwich, it felt dry and unappetizing as he chewed it. He could feel the piece of food sliding down his throat slowly, cluttering up in his throat. He wasn’t hungry, he decided. So he put the sandwich down. 

“Oh, you’re not hungry?” Dan asked, mouth full of bread. 

“Yeah, no appetite.” Thomas smiled at him. “It’s fine, though. No need to worry about me!”

“You should eat.” Mark chimed in. “We’re gonna have to walk a lot tomorrow, and we had a long day.” Inside, he knew Mark was right, but he still reluctantly picked his sandwich back up, and started nibbling it, staring at his thigh. He could still hear the little girl’s groans, see her dull, dead eyes staring at him. A chill ran down his spine. His heart hurt so much, much more than the wound on his thigh.

And when he finished eating, he went to a room in the cottage. The walls were a pastel pink in colour, and there was a small wooden doll house in the corner. There were two beds in the middle of the room, against the wall. On the other wall, there was a shelf, displaying toys, from dolls to cars. It was a children’s bedroom, Thomas realised. There were 3 bedrooms, so he assumed that someone else was going to room with him. The others were still talking outside, laughing and joking. It was better to not tell them of the bite. It would just slow them all down. With that decision, he lay in one of the beds, staring at the little dollhouse. 

Maybe with enough distraction, he could move his thoughts away from the little girl. From the gunshots into her skull. From her dead, blue eyes. It felt like a cruel joke he was in a room that forced that image back into his brain at every corner.

He shut his eyes tight and tried to sleep.

\---

“Up and at ‘em boys! Let’s go go go!” Mark yelled obnoxiously, slapping the doorway to bring his point across. 

Thomas stirred from his sleep, accidentally moving his thigh, causing a burning sensation from his wound. He peeked at it underneath the blanket. The blood had seeped through the cloth and through his jeans, staining onto the bed sheets with a harsh crimson shade. Trying to sit up, he felt as if his body was weighed down with a load of bricks. His head was throbbing, his jeans were ruined, and he couldn’t get up. Essentially, he was a mess. 

Mark, meanwhile, had left the room, presumably to wake up the others. Thomas could hear him energetically clapping, emphasising his "Let's go"s and his "We've got a long day ahead of us"s with gusto. 

Propping himself up, Thomas fought the urge to vomit as a wave of nausea hit him. This wound was screwing with him hard and he will not take this abuse. So while the others were congregating in the living room eating breakfast, Thomas carefully limped his way to the master bedroom. 

“There’s gotta be decent pants in here somewhere…” He murmured under his breath, balancing on his good foot, clutching the wardrobe door for support. Spotting a pair of khakis, he took several shirts from the wardrobe and after taking off his jeans, removed the wrapping of the wound. Blood was still seeping out of the wound, the sight of it giving Thomas another wave of nausea. What should he do? Taking a shirt, he tried to use it to clean the wound the best he could, before wrapping the wound with cloth torn off of several other shirts. Then, sitting on the bed, he pulled the khakis on. They were a bit too big, but it worked.

He walked back to the living room, ignoring the burning sensation in his thigh, and ignoring his massive headache, and ignoring the pit in his stomach. Most of all, he ignored the children’s room he slept in the previous night. Thoughts of the little girl already constantly bombarded his mind, the room would just trigger more.

In the living room, the group was a mixed bag, Ethan excitedly tucking into a ham and cheese sandwich, Mark and Jack filling up the backpacks with food, Phil sipping coffee and Dan drowsily slouching on the couch, cup in his hand.

Mark turned around, and seeing Thomas, smiled. “Great! Thomas is here. We ready to go?” Everyone nodded, other than Dan, who rubbed his eyes and mumbled something about never truly being ready. 

They started their trek, the sun started to rise. Thomas’ legs still ached from the walking yesterday, and coupled with the wound in his thigh, every step was absolutely excruciating. Forcing himself to not limp, he focused on the beams of light streaming up from the sprawling hills. The rays of sunshine were almost blinding, mixtures of pink, orange and yellow brushing the entire sprawling hills with its magnificent glow. 

“Sometimes,” Thomas could hear the wistfulness in Phil’s voice. “I just want to pause everything, and just watch the sunrise.” 

“Mm.” Dan made a noise in agreement. “We get sunrises in London, but here - here it feels so much more...real.” Thomas found himself nodding. 

Continuing on, they kept silent for the most part, occasionally someone making a witty comment about the sheep, or the grass, or the occasional cottage. “This looks like one of those Great British Bake Off cutscenes.” Ethan mentioned off handedly, gesturing to the flock of lambs grazing on grass.

Soon enough, in the afternoon, with the burning sun beating down on the group and their legs all aching from the constant walking (some more than others), Jack let out a jubilant cry. “It’s there! There it is! We’re finally here!”

Thomas smiled, despite the now constant nausea. He felt a little dizzy and his headache did not help with that. Swaying from side to side, he realised his breathing was starting to become very heavy. “Hey Thomas, you don’t look too good.” Was the last thing he heard before he collapsed on the ground.

\---

A white ceiling. That was what Thomas woke up to. _What was going on?_ When he tried to sit up, a voice interjected. “I wouldn’t sit up if I were you.” Thomas looked to the side. It was Ethan, concern evident in his eyes. 

“I…” Thomas hesitated. “I fell, didn’t I?” 

Ethan nodded, before standing up, pacing up and down beside Thomas’ bed. “Phil knows first aid so he helped wrap your leg. He says,” - Ethan’s voice quavered - “He says it's a bite wound, and that you fainted because of blood loss. You-” He paused, before turning to face Thomas. “You were bitten, and you didn’t tell us. Thomas, why didn’t you tell us? We could have- I dunno, carried your stuff or properly wrapped your leg. We could have helped!”

Shaking his head, Thomas shrugged. “I just - I didn’t want to make you guys worry, ya know? This whole zombie thing is just so overwhelming and I - I didn’t want to be a burden.” He looked away sheepishly. 

“You’d never be a burden, Thomas.” Ethan looked sad, a contrast to his usual hyperactive self. Tapping his fingers on his sides repetitively, he shot a quick smile at Thomas. “Now just rest, ‘kay? We’re safe now. We’re safe.”

As the door closed shut, Thomas couldn’t tell who Ethan was trying to convince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the DRAMA! The ANGST! pretty easy to imagine what'll happen next, will we actually go through with it? :') tune in next week to find out


	5. Danny Gets Stabby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are back babey :0  
> thomas is...wHoo boy thomas be going through stuff

**[Day 4, Midnight]**

“Hey Phil, why are you still awake? It’s like midnight, you should be resting.” Dan crossed his arms, leaning against the door frame of Thomas’ bedroom nonchalantly. Phil was wrapping Thomas’s wound tightly with some gauze, Thomas himself fast asleep.

Phil looked up and smiled. “Oh, I’m just finishing up. Thomas has been doing better. Even though he fell yesterday, he says that he feels less nauseous and he’s bleeding less too. I’m sure he can have a good recovery!” Saying this, he tucked Thomas in, before walking over to Dan. Together, they went to the guest bedroom that they shared.

“You know,” Dan sat cross legged on his bed, head tilted and looking at Phil pensively. “I was thinking about what would happen after this whole zombie debacle.”

Phil sat next to him, patting him on the shoulder. “We’ll think about that when we get there. For now, we’ll still be together and that’s all that matters.” He said with a soft laugh. “And besides, you know how I have psychic powers?”

“Psychic powers don’t exist.”

“No, they do!” Phil turned to look at him directly in the eyes. “I’m sure of it. And I’m sure that whatever happens after this mess, we’ll be happy. Isn’t that what matters the most?”

Collapsing on the bed, Dan lay there as he responded, “I guess so. But what will we do?”

“Well,” A playful grin appeared on Phil’s face. “We could…start a Youtube channel. Maybe even two! Or three!”

The thought, though silly, caused the corner of Dan’s eyes to crinkle as he smiled. “What would you call your channel?”

Phil responded confidently. “AmazingPhil.”

“Why?”

“So I can show up as the first on the subscription list of course!”

Dan laughed. “Oh my god, you're such a dork. I’d call mine…” He paused thoughtfully. “Danisnotonfire.”

“Now that’s just pointless! Mine still has a ring to it!”

“Danisnotonfire definitely has a ring to it!” They made eye contact, and burst into laughter. 

“No…” Phil teased. “It’s got no pizzazz.”

Dan grinned. “Would you like me to just use my actual name? Now that’s just cheating.”

Phil slapped him on the leg playfully. “Shut up.”

Dan continued as if he hadn’t heard Phil. “We could collab together. And then, we could make a music video.”

“Ooooh yeah. Or have a stage show!”

“Or a book!” Another chorus of laughter. 

Phil bounced on the bed. “I love making people smile. It’s just a silly dream but-” He let out a wistful sigh. “That would be so much fun.”

“Yeah.” Dan crawled under the blanket. “It would be.” Phil too moved to his own bed. The pair shut their eyes, dozing off to sleep.

However, thoughts still lingered in Dan’s head. He trusted Phil and when he said they’d make it out, some small naive part of him wanted to believe it. But they were in an apocalypse, for fucks sake. What were the chances where the both of them would make it? If only one person was getting out of this apocalypse alive, it couldn’t be Dan. He was going to fight tooth and nail to make sure Phil survives. Because Dan knew one thing. A world without Phil wasn’t a world Dan could live in.

As Dan closed his eyes, trying to drown the intrusive thoughts from his mind, there was a piercing scream. He sat up. _Thomas._ Who else could it be? As the screams continued, he and Phil rushed over to the adjacent room. 

Thomas was clutching his thigh, screaming. His face was all red and his entire face was drenched in something that was either sweat or tears. Dan wasn’t sure which option was worse. The blanket was on the floor, Dan could see the bandage was undone, the wound still bloody but thankfully the bleeding seemed to have stopped. His veins around the area started to bulge, a green tint tarnishing them and spreading slightly near his wound.

“MAKE IT STOP!” Screaming, Thomas clutched the bedsheet so tight that his fingernails actively started to dig into the bed, scratches embedding themselves in the bed frame. Dan didn’t know what to do. He ran over to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. That would work, right? It had to. If not, what else could he do? He was a lawyer, for fuck’s sake, not a bloody doctor. 

Phil, meanwhile, had immediately snapped into action. Grabbing a cloth, he made it wet and approached Thomas with a calm voice. “It’s okay Thomas, it’s okay. Breathe. Just -”

“YOUR EYES! GET AWAY FROM ME!” Thomas yelled, mustering up enough energy to shrink away from Phil, aggravating the wound further. “BLUE EYES! Blue eyes…?” He faltered, groaning as he continued to clutch his leg.

“My... my eyes?” Phil blinked, confused. “I’m not going to hurt you Thomas. I promise.” Just then, Mark, Ethan and Jack burst in, with Dan carrying a glass of water behind them. 

Mark took the damp towel from Phil and placed it on the wound gingerly. “Look, kiddo, you gotta breath. That’s the only way the pain will lessen. You hear me? Breath.”

Feverishly, Thomas’ eyes were darting around all the members of the room and Mark could see him trembling. He was still groaning, but he made eye contact with Mark and he slowly took a breath. “Good job.” Mark said soothingly. “Now, just lie down, okay? Everything is going to be okay, kiddo. Trust me?”

Thomas had a feral look in his eyes as he nodded, before letting out a soft groan. Dan passed him the glass of water and he hungrily gulped it all down, before lying down and promptly passing out. 

The group left the room. “What are we gonna do about Thomas?” Jack asked.” He’s _really_ not okay. Something’s messed up and it’s all to do with the bitemark.”

Phil was the one who spoke up, after several seconds of awkward silence. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

\---

The next day, Ethan woke up to the sound of Thomas’ screams. They had decided that people with blue eyes should stay away from him so as to not cause more aggression than needed, so Mark went to pacify Thomas instead. Ethan, on the other hand, went to the kitchen to cook up some breakfast.

There, he saw Jack. They greeted each other casually, before launching into small talk. “So, you live by yourself?” Ethan asked, cooking scrambled eggs.

“Yeah, this is my holiday home, I usually come here like, once a year, I think?” 

“Wow, that’s so cool! Where do you usually live?” Ethan looked up from the pan, tilting his head and gazing at Sean with a fascinated expression. He was not used to this sort of expression to him, the usual one being a mixture of awe and interest. 

“Well, I have a house in the city. My parents left me that along with the hotel. This house though?” he patted a cabinet fondly. “I bought this all by myself.”

Ethan’s eyes shone. That was really cool. Plus, the house was _pretty_ big. “Oh, I have a house over in LA, still paying-” He stopped mid-sentence. Mark had walked into the kitchen. “Oh, hi Mark. How’s Thomas?”

He winced. “Not good, I’m afraid. He tried to attack me and I had to pin him down. Dan’s with him right now. ”

“But - but he’s going to be alright, right? He can get better, right?” Ethan poured his eggs onto a plate. 

Mark looked down. “That’s the thing, Ethan. I don’t think so. I think,” his voice shuddered. “I think he’s turning. Into a zombie.”

\---

“Hey, Thomas. Calm down, ‘kay? It’s me, your good ol’ pal Dan.” Thomas’ eyes were extremely feral. There was a glassy quality about them, as if he wasn’t here nor there at the same time. His wound was no longer bleeding thankfully, but the green in his veins increased drastically, spreading all through his legs.

Thomas sat up, before stumbling out of the bed. He landed on the floor with a thud. “Hey bud, are you alr-” Dan was cut off as Thomas reached out to try and grab him. “Nope nope nope nope. Miss me with that shit.” Running into the ensuite bathroom, Dan slammed the door shut and locked it, Thomas’ loud banging surrounding the room.

Opening the first aid kit under the sink, Dan tried to figure out what he could use. “Nope, plasters are useless. Whatever the fuck this is, useless. Eyewash, no. Bottle of shit-” He paused, before looking at the bottle closer. _Anesthesia_ was neatly written on the bottle. Furrowing his eyebrows, he tried to remember what that was from his basic knowledge of medicine. 

“Anesthesia...Oh shit, it’s a sedative, isn’t it?” Dan slapped his forehead in self realisation. “Good thing it’s not an actual bottle of shit. Now, where is a syringe?” Fumbling through the kit, he got out a syringe and sucked up the recommended amount of drugs so that he did not accidentally kill Thomas on overdose. He opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom.

“Thomas, I’m very sorry buddy. But hey, look on the brightside, 10 years from now, we’ll be able to laugh about this.” Dan said casually, before leaping to grab his arm and stabbing the needle into it. He aimed for one of the green veins and cursed mentally at how it had spread that far already. Panic arose in Thomas' eyes, even more than before. He stumbled, and started swaying.

Dan, foreseeing what might happen, tried to guide him to the bed before he passed out. “Okay buddy, let's get you to bed.” Thomas fell slack and onto the bed. Dan, paranoid, checked to see if his heart was still beating and if he hadn’t actually killed him. It was still there, though very faint. God, what was this infection? He pushed that from his mind for now and muttered to himself, “Right, so now I need something to tie him up with.”

He went over to the closet, and opened up a drawer, where several multicoloured ties were neatly folded. Grabbing a couple, he linked them together and tied Thomas’ arms to his sides. Afterwards, he took another tie to tie his legs together and another to tie the legs to the bed. Finally, he took the last of the ties to tie Thomas’ torso to the bed.

“Sorry, this is for your own good.” Somewhat proud of his handiwork, Dan ran a hand through his hair. Then, he walked down stairs to the kitchen, where the others were eating their food while talking to each other in hushed voices. 

Looking up, Phil shot a small smile at Dan. “How’s Thomas? Is he good?”

“Ah,” Dan rubbed the back of his neck. “I kinda had to stab him.”

Hearing this, the rest of the group froze, and almost comically, simultaneously turned to look at the British man. “Excuse me, what?”

“I used Jack’s tie supply and tied Thomas up after using some anesthesia to drug him to unconsciousness.” Seeing the others’ horrified faces, Dan hurriedly tried to defend himself. “He was trying to attack me! What do you want me to do? Let him?”

No one spoke for a few minutes. They all knew what they had to do about Thomas but none of them wanted to say it. 

Finally, Mark broke the silence. “I don’t think there’s hope left for him.” he said quietly. “I think...I think we’re going to have to kill him.”

“We can’t do that!” Phil stood up, voice unnaturally loud for the normally gentle guy.

“What else can we do?”

Phil started pacing the room, wringing his hands anxiously. “I - I don’t know. But we can’t just kill him! He’s our friend! There’s gotta be something we can do.”

Ethan, who had been silently sitting in the corner, looked up at Phil. There were tears in his eyes and a quiver in his voice when he spoke. “I don’t think we have another option.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) hope :) y'all :) liked :) that :)


	6. Recipe for Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

**[Day 5, Afternoon]**

They decided that they would not kill him just yet, but feed him and try out different ways to help him. Phil cleaned his wound once more (while Thomas resisted), Ethan tried talking to him, Dan helped Jack feed him and Mark tried using the herbs in Jack’s kitchen to make soup.

Thomas wasn’t budging though. The green was spreading faster than ever before and by the next day, his entire body was covered with the green veins. He was actively violent, and whenever any of them tried approaching him, he’d snap and attempt to bite them. So when they gathered to discuss Thomas’ situation, even Phil knew that there was no hope.

“I’ll do it.” Ethan piped up, before standing up. “I’ll kill him. I won’t - I won’t mess up.”

Despite the monumental task being placed on him, no one objected. Taking out the pistol from his room, he walked over to Thomas’ room and opened the door. “Hey Thomas, how are you?” No answer.

Thomas was asleep, still in his restraints. Letting out a low sigh, Ethan pulled out the small sidearm from his holster. He aimed it straight at Thomas’ head and he could almost see a red-dot, wobbling right over the centre of Thomas’ forehead. His hand was trembling, and he could hear his heart pounding. It resonated in his head, over and over. His friend looked so peaceful, Ethan could almost ignore the green veins. It was a stark contrast to the feral monster Thomas had become, reminding him of the old Thomas. He could slightly see a ghost of a smile on his face, or maybe it was his brain playing tricks on him. He wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry, Thomas.” He took a final look at the man, who looked serene, somewhat happy. He wanted to remember this version of Thomas. And with that decision, he pulled the trigger, and watched the bullet go through the man’s forehead. Gruesome as it was, Ethan found himself to be hypnotized at the sight of Thomas, unable to take his eyes off him. His eyes were fixed on the small hole going straight through Thomas’ forehead. He couldn’t help but watch the greenish red sludge drip from his forehead, smudging the pillows and trickling down on his face. 

Absentmindedly, he flipped back the safety switch, before staggering to the closest wall and sitting in front of it. He - he killed someone. And not just any random person, but his friend. Thomas. 

The guy who always showed up to the filming site with a box of donuts, giving them out to everyone, even the stunt men and sound department. How much that would have cost him, Ethan never asked. He would never know now.

The guy who was nice to everyone he meets, a smile constantly on his face. 

The guy who took everything in good stride, who helped anyone in need. 

The guy - the guy who was dead. Ethan - Ethan was the one who killed Thomas, the one who snuffed the life out of someone so wholesome, so nice. It was his fault.

Tears he didn’t know he had were running down his face, staining the carpeted floor with small dark circles. He couldn’t see the Glock in his hands, but the cold metallic feel made him cringe and drop it in disgust. Lifting up his trembling hands, he tried to wipe away the tears but it was as if a dam had been unleashed, a never ending stream pouring down. He couldn’t breathe. Gasping for air, he sounded as if he were choking, only a strangled sound escaping his lips. He couldn’t think, the only thing he could hear was a nagging little voice, telling him it was all his fault. 

He was a murderer. A _murderer_. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had sat there, quivering in the corner of the room. But he heard a knock, and the door creak open. He ignored it, shutting his eyes. Someone walked up to his side, and carefully, placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.” The person said in a low voice. It was Jack. “You’re very brave, Ethan.”

Ethan opened his eyes, and stared back at the man beside him, not shrugging off the hand on his shoulder. “What makes you think that?” The words came out harsher than he had expected. “I’m a murderer. I killed...I killed _Thomas_. That’s not brave.”

Jack’s gaze softened, even more than before, but even through that, Ethan could see the tears he was holding back. “You sacrificed your morals for someone else’s happiness. I think that’s pretty brave.”

“I shot a bullet through his head. I don’t think he’s very happy.”

“Do you think Thomas would have wanted to be an aggressive, mindless killing machine? No. You spared him. Trust me.”

Breaking the eye contact, Ethan looked over at Thomas. He never was happy after he was infected. Jack was right. “Thank you, Jack.”

“My friends call me Sean.” Ethan could see the smile on his face. “And honestly, I think you’re my first real one.”

\---

They decided to bury him in the garden outside. They didn’t have many options but they hoped Thomas would at least be at peace here.

Mark was digging the grave. He had been there for the past hour. As everyone inside was solemnly gathering their things and putting Thomas away, he had been out here, digging the grave. He had refused any help. He wanted to do this, wanted to do something for Thomas, even if it had just been...digging his grave.

Mark was never the most touchy-feely person. He preferred to joke and laugh instead. Thomas, a person who always openly showed affection and complemented people on the whim, was always foreign to him. He had never understood how someone could be so open with their feelings, about their opinions. Thomas had always stuck out to him. He was never particularly close to the guy, but they often had to interact and talk when one had to consult the other about the movie, as well as when on the run, where Dan had Phil and Ethan had Jack, the two of them often ended up talking to each other and pairing up.

He was just digging his grave. The dirt wasn’t too hard to shovel, and he kept digging on and on. That gunshot, that echoed through the house, the one that made Phil put down his coffee cup and bury his head in his hands to stifle a sob, the one that made Dan’s brow's to furrow, before biting his lip, the one that made Mark himself stand up and leave the living room silently. That gunshot rang in his mind over and over, replaying the others’ reactions over and over. He hated it. He wanted it to stop. All the noises, all the memories. Fuck, all the thoughts. He just wanted it to stop. 

Yelling, he threw his shovel in frustration. No one here deserved to die. No one deserved to go through what Thomas had to, to be forced to do what Ethan was forced to do. He tried to calm down but he didn’t want to. He wanted to scream, to express his anger. But he couldn’t. He knew that. The others were counting on him. He was their leader. He had to stay calm.

So he breathed. In. Out. He picked up the shovel. And he continued digging.

\---

Thomas lay on the bed, eyes closed. Taking a clean cloth, Phil wiped the blood off his head. He didn’t want to think about his good friend being gone. He didn’t want to be the one to clean up his dead body. But he had to. The others weren’t in good enough mental states to do it. That’s why he’d volunteered to clean up Thomas.

He was cold to touch. Phil took out the first aid kit and got some gauze. Carefully, he wrapped it around Thomas’ head, covering the gaping bullet wound as if it was never there. He should at least look a bit presentable before his funeral. 

Thomas was a warning. Phil knew that much. Thomas was a sign, to show what happened to you if you let your guard down. What happens to you if you don’t stay alert. Of course, he was also a life lost. A bright spark extinguished. It was terrible. It shouldn’t have happened. “If only I figured out how to heal him…” He trailed off. He shook his head. No negative thoughts. Not when the morale was so low. He had to support the others, help the others.

Phil pushed down all of the negativity, bottling it up and storing it in a cupboard. Later. He’ll deal with it later. And with that decision, he cut the gauze and tucked it in.

\---

The funeral was silent. Ethan could barely pay attention to anything that was going on. Phil and Sean were the ones who put Thomas in the grave, and Mark was the one who asked if anyone had any words they wanted to say. No one spoke up. No one wants to accept that someone in their midst is gone, they never do. But Ethan had seen it. He had seen the transition from living to dead, the moving of Thomas’ chest abruptly stop. Thomas was gone. He was never coming back, because he was dead.

Looking around, the others weren’t handling the funeral well. Ethan could see the pure emptiness in some eyes, tears in others. He wanted to say something, to Thomas, and to them. But from reading the mood of the others, he knew it would break them further. So he choked down his words.

After the funeral, Ethan sat at the side of the grave, cross legged and a single flower in his hand. “Hey Thomas, how are ya?” He gave a half smile to the grave, fingers twirling the yellow flower absentmindedly. 

“I know you’ve been dead for just a couple hours, but I hope you’re all settled in the afterlife.” A small chuckle escaped his lips. “Which religion was right? Or maybe The Good Place was right. I’ll know when I get there.”

His smile faltered, turning into a bit of a frown. “Look, man, I’m - I’m sorry for killing you. I hope you know it had to be done.” He smiled once more. “At least I didn’t use a shotgun. I don’t think any of us would have been able to stomach _that_ mess.”

“Anyways,” He stood up. “I hope you’re at peace. You deserve it. Bye Thomas.” Placing the flower on the grave, he walked off, hands in his pockets and a wistful expression on his face.

\---

Phil found Dan lying on his bed, staring at the stark white ceiling with the emptiness in his eyes Dan often had in one of his depressive funks. Usually, when Dan was in one of these moods, Phil would always do anything he can to try and help him, whether it is to run a bubble bath for him, or try to help distract him by playing Zelda for him. Because Phil knew that it was hard to help Dan when he feels that way, and Phil knew that the best way of helping would be to support him in whatever way he can.

“Hey Dan,” Phil said gently, “are you up for a bubble bath? Jack has loads of fancy soap that you can pamper yourself with. You deserve it.”

Dan just lay there, silent. “Tell ya what.” Phil declared in a chirpy tone. “I’ll run you the best bubble bath in existence, kay? You just rest here. I’ll be back.”

Going over to the ensuite bathroom, Phil rummaged the toilet cupboard for a nice bath bomb. He never had personally experienced the constant emptiness that depression caused, only small periods when a close relative died. But Dan had said it was like he had fallen into a hole, separate from everyone else. He said that he didn’t feel sad, or have any particular need to cry. He just couldn’t feel anything at all. And it pained Phil so much to see him like that. It hurt to see someone he cared so much about suffer. So he did whatever he could to help him.

Choosing a nice galaxy themed bath bomb, Phil turned on the tap for the bathtub, filling it with steamy hot water. While the tub was filling, he went down to the kitchen to see if there was any chocolate. Chocolate always helped. He grabbed a large Hershey bar. “Chocolate huh?” Mark, who had been sitting at the kitchen island area asked. “You do seem like you have a sweet tooth.”

“It's not for me, it's for Dan.”

Phil swore he saw Mark’s expression harden for a split second, before he let out a sigh. “Yeah, we all need to find some way to cope.” He stood up. “Have fun.”

Nodding, Phil went back up to the room. “Hey Dan, I got some chocolate from Jack’s stash. It’s a Hershey bar, aren’t we in luck?”

Dan looked paler than normal, his eyes empty and sad. Turning his head to look at Phil, his expression looked a little glazed. “I think the bath is ready too.” Acknowledging this, Dan turned back to stare at the ceiling.

“I found this really cool galaxy themed bath bomb, do you want to try it? I know how much you love bath bombs.” Phil went into the bathroom to turn off the tap, before reemerging to help Dan. He walked over next to Dan, before tapping him on the shoulder lightly. “Come on, you can do your existential thinking in the bath.”

Dan couldn’t get up. He just felt so tired, he wanted to melt into the bed. But inwardly, he knew Phil was right. They often experienced this same scenario back in their London apartment, with Phil comforting a depressed Dan with chocolate or a movie or a nice hot bath. It usually wasn’t this bad after he started taking his meds, but the fucking idiot he was, he left them in the hotel. Dan knew Phil was right, but he couldn’t help but think that Phil probably secretly hated him, and that he was a burden to the whole team. But he might as well get up. So, using all his strength, he forced himself to get up.

He could see Phil’s eyes light up, the striking blue green shining with a happiness he was familiar with. “You got up! That’s great! I’m so proud of you Dan!”

Dan shot a weary half smile to Phil, before trodding over to the bathroom, locking the door. Slowly, he slipped out of his clothes, before stepping into the dark purple water. The water was warm to the touch, and he couldn’t help letting out a sigh of relief. He sat in the tub, knees against his chest, hands hugging his legs.

He didn’t want to think about Thomas, yet that was the only thought that was in his mind. _How didn’t you realise?_ A sharp, condescending voice mocked in his head. _You saw the weird bump on his thigh. Did you even ask? No. Why would you have? It’s not like you care about others. You don’t deserve them then. Phil. The others. Fuck, even this bath. You don’t deserve shit._ Cringing, he curled up into a smaller ball, arms tightening around his legs. The voice was so loud. The voice was true. Everything was pointless. He was useless. He was worthless. He-

Soft knocking. “Are you alright in there Dan?” It was Phil. Dan didn’t want to answer, but on the other hand, he didn’t want to lie. 

“I - I’m -” He trailed off. “Just eat the chocolate bar. I don’t want it.” 

Silence. Phil murmured, “I’ll save some for you, Dan. Enjoy your bath.” Dan could barely hear him. Then, a slight pause. “I care about you, Dan. You know that, right?”

Rubbing his arm, Dan wasn’t sure what he knew. He sat there, curled up at the edge of the bathtub for a while, simply thinking. About Phil. About Thomas. 

When would this apocalypse end? When would the fear of losing his friends end? He had lost one already. Thomas. The name rang through his head, making his heart clench and the pit in his stomach even deeper. He didn't want anyone to die. Especially his friends. His thoughts were the same message, over and over. His friends needed to survive. They deserved to survive. As for him? That was another question he did not want to answer.

He supposed he should probably properly bathe and get changed. The warm water was now room temperature. Squeezing some body soap into the palm of his hand, he washed himself absentmindedly, mind wandering off to other, less trivial topics than his own personal hygiene. 

Climbing out of the tub, he dried off and put on clean khakis and a T-shirt that Jack lent him. He unlocked the door and was met with Phil, who was sitting on his bed, a piece of chocolate in his hand. Phil was nibbling the chocolate, the rest of the bar on the table in between the two beds, lying next to Phil's pistol. Looking up, the corner of Phil’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at Dan. “How was your bath? You look refreshed.”

Dan shrugged. Phil had made it clear many times that Dan shouldn’t hide his emotions, especially when he was feeling depressed, so he didn’t try to force a smile. “It was very philosophical. You should have a bath too, it’s very comfortable.”

“Yeah, later.” There was a brief moment of silence. “Thomas wasn’t - Thomas wasn’t your fault.” 

Dan flinched. “Wh - what?” 

“You’re not the reason why Thomas - why Thomas is gone. None of us are.”

“I know that.” Dan said quickly, almost harshly.

Phil looked down at the chocolate in his hand. He murmured quietly, but Dan could hear it crystal clear. “I don’t think you do.” 

Dan didn’t respond. Instead, he climbed into bed, shut his eyes, and tried not to think about how sad Phil sounded when he said that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the immortal words of kiki:  
> "Phil was a sad boi  
> Ethan was also sad  
> Dan is sad  
> Mark is sad  
> Jack is ... somewhat sad  
> This chapter is sad"


	7. A Smile Will Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry not sorry lolol

**[Day 7, Morning]**

Phil woke up to Sean roughly shaking him awake. He hadn’t been able to sleep the previous night, instead tossing and turning with emotions and thoughts he wanted to keep secret. Groggily rubbing his eyes, he let out a small yawn. “Wha - What’s going on?” 

Already fully dressed in cargo pants and a dark green T-shirt, Sean’s eyes were filled with worry and his voice was laced with panic. “It's the zombies, Phil. They’re surrounding the house. We need to go.” 

Hearing this, Phil snapped out of his drowsy state and grabbed his baseball bat, which he had kept leaning against his bed. “You go and wake up Dan, I’ll gather ammo.” 

Phil nodded, before shaking Dan awake. “Dan. Dan. We’ve got to go.”

Dan’s brown eyes were glazed as he let out a yawn. “Huh?” 

“Zombies, Dan. We’re going to be surrounded if we don’t get out.” Dan shot up, eyes suddenly alert, darting from left to right with a rabid look in his eyes. Climbing out of bed, he grabbed the backpack at the foot of the bed, which Phil knew was filled with food, drinks and weapons. Phil looked out of the window. He could hear some faint groans, and a group of around 20 - 30 green tinted zombies limping their way to the house. 

“Are you having an actual laugh?” He murmured under his breath, before getting his pistol from his side table and stuffing it in his pocket. The hard metal object pressed against his jean pocket, the feeling still foreign to Phil. “What are we going to do?” He ran after Sean, Dan following after. “Fight?”

Urgently, Sean walked down the steps, backpack slung on his shoulder. “I - I think so. We can take them.” They were met with a messy haired, yawning Ethan, and a bright eyed Mark, who were standing at the doorway, shotgun and pistol in their hands respectively. 

“Okay, here’s the plan.” Mark pushed up his glasses. “You know the zombies? Run as fast as possible away from them. Shoot them if they get close.”

Dan raised a sceptical eyebrow. “That’s the plan?”

“You got a better one?”

“Yes, actually.” Dan wore a proud smile on his face. “The zombies aren’t fast. They are power walking most of the time. If we just keep running away, they’ll keep chasing us and we’ll lose our energy, trip and _die._ What we have to do, is either kill all of them, or get them to follow something else.”

Everyone nodded. Dan made a fair point. “So, there’s like what? 25ish zombies? I propose, we kill them all. It’s literally 5 each and we have plenty of ammo. We shouldn’t waste it, but in this case, I think we can make an exception. Besides, we all know how to use guns now. We can take them.”

Phil’s voice was quiet when he spoke up. “We can?” The others flinched. 

Mark was the first to respond. “Of course we can.” He sounded unnaturally carefree. “What do we have to lose?”

The silent answer hung in the air, no one wanting to address it. There was always something to lose. Phil knew that. And it scared him. But he shook off the fears, suppressing them. Getting out his pistol, he tried to sound confident; to make up for his earlier doubt. “Let’s do this.”

They opened the door and immediately began shooting. The gunshots were all Phil could here as he pressed the unfamiliar trigger at the zombies. His shots weren’t perfect, but he did manage to get a headshot or two, which he was proud of.

He tried focusing on the body instead, staggering them by hitting their center of mass, opening up the others to some pretty spectacular headshots. Most of the zombies fell after just one or two shots, which felt too easy to Phil but he wasn’t going to count his blessings now. 

The others were doing really well, he realised after a bit. As long as they kept their distance and watched each others’ backs, making sure no zombies could sneak up on them without warning, they would be fine.

Dan was pulling his own and Phil was proud of him. Despite the fact that he too wasn’t the most adept at using guns, he was somehow consistently achieving headshots. He noticed how Dan’s hands weren’t shaking and tried to ignore the tremors in his own.

He looked around again. Ethan was the bravest of them, hands down. He knew the shotgun had very little range and he was walking right up to zombies and pulling the trigger. He had none of the carefree energy Phil remembered, all that disappearing to a cold, hard anger. He had never seen Ethan like this before, and to be honest, it kind of scared him.

He looked around again. Mark and Jack working as one unit, watching each others’ backs. It reminded him of his own relationship with Dan. He knew Mark and Jack didn’t know each other that well but this seemed to be the first step in a friendship he’d think he’d envy.

After nailing a headshot, for which he pat himself on the back, he realised, there weren’t anymore zombies around. He was trembling, his entire body drenched in sweat. Holy shit, they'd done it! They’d killed them all. He exhaled shakily. He’d...killed so many. They weren’t humans anymore, he reminded himself. These zombies weren’t the people they once were. They were like - like Thomas…

Dan turned around, brown eyes widening with concern. “Phil, you okay?” Phil nodded, waving Dan off with a smile. 

“Yeah, I just... I can’t believe we _actually_ did it.” He gestured with his Glock at the mass of bodies around them, the extent of it finally catching up with Phil.

Mark spoke up. “Yeah. That was - that was nuts.”

Ethan slung the shotgun again and said, “I think we should get going. Don’t want another horde creeping up on us.”

Everyone nodded slowly. The noise had to have been deafening. Who knew what had heard them?

They ended up forming a congression of sorts, figuring it would keep them safer. Ethan with his shotgun went up the front and he brought up the rear. Dan was right in front of him, with Mark and Sean in between him and Ethan.

Phil hesitated for a moment before leaving, still shocked by the bodies surrounding him. He had...killed so many. He really had to put that behind him, they _weren’t_ humans anymore and he had to learn to start distinguishing them. 

As he came to terms with what had gone on and started following the 4 people who were already far from him, he felt a hand grab his ankle. It felt cold and unnatural and he knew what it was immediately. The rough skin was gripping onto his ankle with unnatural strength, and Phil didn’t know what to do. _They were playing_ , he thought desperately, _they hadn’t died._ He couldn’t articulate, his brain in shambles.

The hand pulled back and the force of it was strong enough to make him topple to the ground. The wind was knocked out of his lungs and he groaned out in pain. Thankfully, it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Dan turned around first. At first, his eyes were crossed in confusion but he realised what had happened almost immediately. In a panic, he shakily raised his gun. Instead of pulling the trigger, Dan hesitated. He didn’t trust his aim. What if he hit Phil?

“No! Fuck off! Get away from him!” The yell of outrage brought everyone’s attention to the scene. Phil didn’t have enough energy to suppress a laugh. To him, once the hand had grabbed him, his fate had been sealed. He wasn’t getting out of the grip, one too strong for an undead. 

He felt another on him and another. Despite everything, he still kicked and scrabbled, some small part of him still wanting to stay alive. None of the others knew what to do, too shocked to help him or get the zombies off of him. They were too far away to do anything of use but none of them wanted to get closer. Damn zombies.

He locked eyes with Dan, whose gun was still hanging uselessly in his hand. He was torn. The selfish part of him wanted to be with Dan, wanted to survive. But that wasn’t feasible. He knew he wasn’t coming out of this. And if he wasn’t, he was _not_ going to drag the rest down with him. They had to survive. At least if he could not.

With the last strength he could muster, legs still furiously kicking the hands with the sole intention of holding the zombies back, he yelled out, “Go! Get out of here!” He saw Dan, conflict evident on his face, the small pinpricks of tears shining in his eyes. Blinking through his own, he screamed again, “Don’t you dare die on me, Howell! Go! Run!”

Ethan understood faster than the rest, his eyes scanning the sea of zombies coming for him. He patted Sean’s shoulder worriedly and gestured behind them. Phil tuned out. All he could hear were the groans of the zombies surrounding him, slowly starting to climb onto him.

Slowly the group backed away, all except for Dan. Dan, who was still staring at him with tears running down his face, lip trembling ever so slightly. He could see the 18 year old boy he'd met back in college and despite the curly hair and the angriness that was gone from his eyes, there wasn’t much of a difference. Dan still looked vulnerable, with his shirt drenched with sweat and his eyes wide and shining. Phil offered him a small, sad smile, one that could encapsulate everything so perfectly. He’d miss Dan. 

He saw Mark grab Dan by the shoulders and pull him back, not letting up at the screams and kicks. The 4 of them were a plucky bunch. They’d make it. 

A hand roughly pushed his head down, and Phil knew there wasn’t any point in trying to resist. There was no other possibility. He was going to die. But he wasn’t going to die in vain. Phil hoped with all his heart that his death would keep the others alive, and that was the thought that made him calm, accepting his fate with open arms.

He felt teeth bite down on his neck, and his eyes turned glassy, that sad smile still painted on his face. With that, Phil Lester felt no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and another one bites the dust


	8. The Flashback Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sol's on hiatus, so you've just got me here! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

**[Day 7, Afternoon]**

Dan did not know when he could stop running. Mark had yelled for him to run, Phil’s sad smile still imprinted in his mind. He forced himself to just keep running, and running, more than he had run in his entire life. Gasping for breath, the ground seemed to shake beneath him. He didn’t know what to do. The other guys were ahead of him, all of them more muscular and fitter than he was. His feet were periodically hitting the grassy ground, only soft thuds being heard from the impact. Dan couldn’t think straight. Fuck, he didn’t want to think. For the first time in his life, Dan Howell did not want to think. He didn’t want to think about Phil's dead limp body, he did not want to think of the gunshot that killed Thomas, he did not want to think about Thomas’ screams and he definitely did not want to think about Phil’s screams. Or his last words. 

Nope. Nope nope nope nope nope. They weren't his last words. They were - they were something else. A joke, perhaps. Phil was _fine._ When they get to the next safe place, Phil would be sitting on the sofa. His hair would be a little rumpled, and his pants a little torn, but Phil could pull it off. He pulls everything off. Yes, yes. Phil would be sitting on the sofa, munching on some chocolate. Dan would tease him about eating all the chocolate in the safe place and not saving any for him, and then Phil would pull out another chocolate bar and hand it over to Dan. Yup. That’s totally what will happen. Dan would chastise Phil for tripping and being oh so clumsy, and Phil would do that laugh he always has, the one with his tongue sticking out. “It's not my fault! I've got two left feet! You know that about me. " He'd say, grinning cheekily at Dan. Right. That's exactly what will happen. 

The ground didn’t even feel like ground anymore. He couldn’t really feel anything in his feet. Just a lot of pain. Damn these fashionable but not really practical white Vans. They were smudged in brown dirt from all the countryside they had all been walking through these past few days and his feet _hurt._

Looking up in front of him, the others were slowly coming to a stop but Dan didn’t _care._ If he could just keep running, he could stop thinking. He’d only think about his aching feet and that would be infinitely better than to think about anything else. Pain was a good distraction. 

Someone grabbed his arm. “Dan. Dan. They’re gone. You can stop running. You’re gonna get hurt if you don’t pace yourself.” Dan spun around to see who it was. Mark stared back at him, the hand clutching his arm steady.

“I don’t care.” Dan snapped, bitterness evident in his voice.

“Kid, you have to calm down. This self harming attitude isn’t going to do anyone any -.”

“I don’t care.” Dan interrupted, shaking the hand off roughly. “I don’t _care_. We need to do something. We can go back and see if Phil’s still there. I shouldn’t have left him. That - that spork is bound to get hurt without me. He’s so clumsy! He-”

Sean placed a hand on Dan’s shoulder, trying to stop him from pacing. “We can’t go back, Dan. There were too many of them. You saw it. Phil - Phil’s gone.”

Eyes widening with disbelief, Dan shook his head. “No, no. Phil can’t be gone. He can’t. It - it’s not possible.” Dan stopped pacing. Phil had to be alive. He had to be. What was a world without Phil? Those 18 years without any friends, without any _hope,_ without any Phil _-_ Dan couldn’t live like that. He couldn’t fathom being back in that dark place, being so lonely, so sad. He just- he didn’t want that. And Phil wasn’t just a want. Phil was a friend. Dan needed Phil. And Phil needed Dan. They balanced each other, ever since they met. And now he was gone. 

Dan let out an awkward, forced chuckle. “He - he’s not gone. Phil isn’t gone. How can he be gone? Phil - he -” 

Realisation dawned on his face as if someone had slapped him with a big dose of reality. “Fuck. It's my fault. It’s my fault he’s dead. He shouldn’t have died. If I was a little faster, a little closer, I could have saved him. I could have shot that _fucking_ zombie. I was right there! Hell, it should have been me. He didn’t deserve to die. I should have died.”

“Don’t say that.” Ethan, who had been quietly standing at the side, snapped harshly. “No one here deserves to die. Including you.”

Dan forced down the words he wanted to utter, letting them quietly burn in his throat instead. Silently, he started walking.

\---

They broke into another cottage. It had two bedrooms, ammo and another pistol. In the back, there was also a large jeep. Most importantly, there was a kitchen chock full of food. Opening the cupboard, Dan found some bread. Grabbing the loaf of bread, he collapsed on the sofa and tore a piece out, stuffing it into his mouth in an unnaturally angry manner. The bread was stuffed with raisins, the sweet flavour bursting in his mouth with every bite. It was delicious. If he was chewing, it meant he wasn’t thinking. That was the idea, at least. It wasn’t working

 _Phil's gone. And it's all your fault._ A voice murmured in his head. _You were too slow. You should have paid more attention. You should have been closer. You - you -_ Swallowing his bread, he yanked his hair violently, standing up suddenly. He let out a guttural yell, grabbing the pistol on the table. “I’ll keep watch.” He snapped at the others sitting in the living room, before storming out of the cottage. Aiming the pistol to a tree in the front of the house, he pulled the trigger.

BANG! The pistol wasn’t loaded, the bullets all in his pocket. Dan didn’t care. He just needed to do something to make himself feel like he was useful. And perhaps, though he’d never admit it out loud, the shooting was rather therapeutic. 

BANG! Thomas was back.

BANG! There wasn’t an apocalypse.

BANG! Phil was back. 

BANG! Phil was back.

BANG! Phil was back.

He was clicking the trigger faster and faster, harder and harder, the anger coursing through his veins. His hands were trembling, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything. Nothing mattered. The gun may have been empty, but each gunshot was satisfying, each bang reverberating through his skull with a vengeance as well as an odd, misplaced comfort. 

He didn’t know how long he spent out there, shooting blanks at the tree. When a hand was placed on his shoulder, Dan barely acknowledged it. “What do you want?” He snapped, voice harsh. 

“Dan, come inside. Sean cooked dinner.” It was Ethan, comfort lacing his voice. And yet, there was a certain restrained hardness and icyness in his voice that made Dan flinch. What happened to Ethan?

Dan shook his head, finger somehow even more furiously pulling the trigger. “I’m not hungry.”

“Dan. Dan.” Dan lowered his gun and turned to face Ethan. His brown eyes were hard and cold, so unlike the warm eyes that would usually be present on Dan’s face. Ethan couldn’t help but wonder when he had become so sad, so angry. “You need to eat. Come inside.” 

His hand, callous from all the stunts, took Dan by the wrist, and surprisingly, he didn’t resist. They walked into the cottage, where Dan shook Ethan hand away, picked up a slice of bread that lay sadly on the table, and walked into one of the rooms, door closing softly behind him. Ethan wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he swore he could hear quiet sobs from the room. 

“Should I... Should someone go check on him?” Ethan turned to Mark, who was chewing on a piece of meat, no readable expression on his face. 

His eyes darted left to right, as if he was analysing a problem in front of him. In a way, he was. “No, we’re all coping in our own way. Shutting himself in a room is just how he does it.” 

Ethan didn’t want to, but he wished he had the luxury to do the same.

\---

Dan let out a sigh. The first day of university. This was a fresh start, a new beginning. No more being shoved into lockers. No more being ostracised. No more being punched and teased. None of that. He was going to make friends, actual ones, not the ones who threatened to set his tent on fire, and mock him and call him gay. 

Adjusting his jacket, he knocked the door and pushed it open, only to be greeted by a boy who was reading a book. He had shaggy black hair that was styled into an emo fringe, with a pair of glasses perched on his nose. They framed his bright blue - green eyes, that were darting left to right quickly, with him occasionally jotting down notes in the book. He wore a red shirt with a bright design on it, with black skinny jeans. The walls were stark white, but they could barely be seen underneath all the posters hung up, from Buffy the Vampire Slayer posters to My Chemical Romance posters. 

The boy looked up, eyes lighting up in recognition. He stood up hastily from his desk, almost tripping. Seeing him clearer now, the boy was several inches taller than Dan. He looked like he was in his early twenties, a youthful glow still surrounding him that was accompanied with an air of maturity that Dan usually found in grown ups. Sticking out his hands, he smiled. “Hey! You’re my new roommate, right?” His voice had a northern accent that stuck out to Dan. 

Dan nodded hesitantly before shaking his hand. “Yeah. I’m Dan.” 

“Hi Dan! I’m Phil! Sorry for the mess, I hope you like Buffy.” His eyes were bright and warm.

Dan couldn’t help but smile when he nodded. “Yeah, I do.” 

Chuckling, Phil’s eyes crinkled in the corners. “You know what, Dan? I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”

\---

“D-Dan. What are you doing here? Are you moving in?” Phil asked Dan, puzzlement evident on his face, presumably wondering why his best friend was standing at his doorstep, a suitcase at his feet. 

Dan looked down, slightly sheepish. “I - I’m scared of the laundromat.”

“What? Why? We went there all the time before I graduated.” Phil looked bemused.

“Yeah, together! But it’s really scary.” Dan wrung his hands anxiously. “I saw someone take out laundry while the cycle was still going, and stuffed his own laundry in! Then, someone else came in, and took someone’s sock!” 

“Sock?”

“Yes Phil. A single sock. I’m not going back there.”

Phil nodded understandingly. “Sure, you can use my washing machine. Come on in.”

\---

_“Go! Get out of here! Don’t you dare die on me, Howell! Go! Run!”_

\---

Dan shot up in the bed, tears running down his face. The blanket was on the floor, leaving him to simply lie there. He didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want anything. Still, he rolled off the bed and grabbed his pistol. He had to clear his mind.

“You guys chill, I’ll keep watch.” Dan shut the door before the others could protest. 

He stood outside, angrily messing out with the pistol in his hand, only half registering what he was doing.

He was shocked out of his stupor by a gruff voice behind him. “You sure you’re not going to accidentally blow your fingers off?”

Turning around, he was to face to face with Mark and he was filled with this irrational anger. He wanted to be alone. He didn’t deserve others coming near him. “Go away, Fischbach. I don’t need your advice.”

He heard a soft chuckle and Mark walked up right next to him. “Ya know Dan, I never really understood you.”

“Hah. Same.”

“No, no. Really. You never seemed to really…” Mark waved his hand around in an attempt to grasp the word he was searching for. “function, as a human. You always just kind of lingered in the corner of the room, waiting for Phil to finish his conference or his meeting so the two of you could quickly head back home.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Mark brushed off the question. “You always looked a bit lost. Your eyes will go all sad like a lost puppy or something. But then, whenever you talk to Phil, your whole face manages to light right up. No kidding. It’s a bit scary. You look more grounded, more at peace.”

Dan’s knuckles were white as he clenched his fists. “I don’t look like a lost puppy. And what do you know? You don’t fucking know me.”

“I know you enough, Dan. You need to get something through your head.” Mark’s lighthearted tone was serious now. “If you want to mourn Phil, that’s fine. But you have to survive to do that. Just survive Dan. Survive.” 

He patted Dan on the back, and walked back to the cottage. Mark tried to ignore the sad look on his face, one that looked like surviving was exactly the opposite of what he wanted to do.

\---

Ethan was on the couch, sipping on a warm cup of coffee when Mark walked in, head hung low. “Did he listen?”

Shrugging, there wasn’t much hope in his voice when he responded. “That kid’s so in his head. I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t want to lie to him, ya know?” 

The coffee left a bitter taste in his mouth. “We don’t have the - the luxury to let him grieve, Mark. I think we have to to a certain degree.” 

Ethan stood up, setting down his coffee mug gently. “I’ll do it. He’ll snap out of it. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question! Who is your favourite character so far? Comment down below!


	9. Ethan's Anime Speech

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just bc i'm on hiatus doesnt mean i can't hit y'all in the feels with this  
> \- sol

**[Day 8, Evening]**

Everyone had realised that the house was pretty safe, and there didn’t seem to be any zombies within a huge radius. One problem, though, they were running out of supplies in the relatively small house. Mark didn’t think they were ready to leave yet, though.

A few of them would have to brave it out and get them something from somewhere else. At least, Mark believed that was the best course of action. There was even a jeep in the garage that they could bring out. The previous owner was never going to need it again anyway.

When he broke the news to the rest, they responded...fairly well. Dan didn’t say anything at first but he nodded blearily. He had one’s approval. Two left.

The first thing out of Sean’s mouth was, “I can’t drive.”

That jarred Dan enough to look at him incredulously. “Are - are you serious right now, mate? You can’t drive? You literally earn thousands of dollars regularly but you still can’t drive?”

Sean simply deadpanned in response. “I earn thousands of dollars regularly.” It was met with a “Touche”. Sean continued despite Dan and said, “As long as I’m not driving, I’m good.”

He looked at Ethan now, who had been looking at his Glock with interest. Mark cleared his throat in his direction and said, “Ethan, you up for this?”

Ethan finally looked up and nodded. “I’ll go.”

He actively made for the door by himself before Mark jumped out in front of him and asked, “Woah. Where do you think you’re going?”

“To get the supplies?” Ethan answered like it was obvious. His eyes were cold, the usual bright sparkle reduced to a dull shimmer. He even glared at Mark, annoyance evident on his face. Holy shit, what had happened to Ethan?

“At least bring someone with you! It’s not safe out there for one person.”

Ethan sighed angrily and turned to the others, eyes flicking up and down in the direction of each of them. “Come on, Howell, you’re with me. I’ve been meaning to talk with you anyway.”

With that, he was out the door, Remington in hand. Dan stood up and sighed wearily, his reluctance obvious as he trailed behind him.

\---

He and Dan had left the relative safety of the jeep they had hijacked to get some supplies. The one good thing about the apocalypse, everything was free. They were running out of food and some ammo would be nice. 

Ethan knew Dan was still reeling from Phil. Hell, all of them had been. Mark was starting to take charge and Seán was breaking down a bit from all the pressure. Ethan knew that retreating into himself wasn’t healthy but without it, he knew he would break down. He wasn’t too good with feelings but as long as he kept them at bay, maybe he could save everyone else. 

Dan, though. Dan was taking it far worse than any of them. He had insisted on taking watch even when they didn’t need to and he wasn’t responding to them a lot of the time. He knew he was working himself to exhaustion to try to shake the feeling but Ethan knew that wouldn’t help in the long run. 

They’d gotten some food from a cottage and had found a bit of ammo in there as well. 

As they trekked back to the jeep, Ethan could hear Dan already going back to mentally blaming himself. The angst was almost pungent. So he didn’t try to lower his voice as he turned around.

“Dan. Look at me,” he whispered. Dreary, practically dead eyes looked down at him. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You will die and we will all die because of you.”

Dan didn’t respond again and tried to walk past him. None of it was getting to him. _Shit_. Was Dan really this far gone? He grabbed him by the shoulders and shook them. “Look, you can’t do this forever Dan. This is not what Phil would have wanted -”

He was interrupted then by Dan, who had finally broken out of his stupor. His exhaustion forgotten, the man turned around, eyes welling up with frustrated, angry tears and he yelled at him. “How would you know what Phil would have wanted? You didn’t know him! I did! It was all my fault! If I hadn’t been _so fucking slow…_ ”

Dan trailed off and looked down again, wiping his eyes. Ethan had to stop this train of thought. “No. No, it wasn’t your fault.”

Before Dan could open his mouth to retaliate, he raised his hands and put them on Dan’s shoulders. “ _It wasn’t your fault_. No one blames you for what happened, including Phil. You’re the one blaming yourself and it’s time you got over it.”

Dan’s jaw was clenched tight and Ethan didn’t stop. He was getting angrier now anyway. “No. We do not have the time to mourn now. I know you and Phil were close, closer than any of us really. But we don’t have the time okay. I’m not trying to put a timer on your grief and hell knows we won’t come out of this the same but we need to survive now. You need to focus on the living now to honor the dead.”

Dan finally looked up again and whispered so soft that Ethan had to strain his ears. “I...I can’t live in a world without Phil. I just...can’t.”

Ethan shook his head. This? This was the root of the matter. And you know what? It wasn’t true. “No. That’s not true, Dan. You are living and you _will_ live. You owe it to Phil to keep going. To keep living for his memory. That’s why we’re still doing this. You are dishonoring him right now. But, you can change. Keep living, alright, Dan?”

Dan’s eyes turned misty and Ethan could almost hear the waterworks that Dan hid. They would have time to mourn later and Ethan would make sure of it.

Ethan took point after that and led them back to the jeep. He brought out his shotgun and loaded it. His intuitions had really stepped up in this hellhole and something was coming. Something big. Dan looked up fearfully and brought out one of the pistols that Ethan had equipped the rest with. Dan had really taken a shine to the handgun and was pretty decent with it, considering the fact that he had never handled one until pretty recently. 

And in the distance he saw it. A zombie horde. Why they were headed this way, he had no clue but they were fucked either way. Could they get back to the jeep now?

Ethan looked back at Dan who had noticed it already and was trembling. Morbidly, he thought, there might’ve even been a little Lester somewhere in the crowd. 

“How much time do we have?” he asked Howell.

Howell wrung his hands worriedly. “Not much. If we sprint, we might be able to outpace them.” 

“Come on, then!” he yelled and the two of them took off. Howell wasn’t as fit as him, but his legs were very long, meaning that he was still pretty fast. 

However, the zombies slowly were catching up. Nestor knew they weren’t this fast usually but they didn’t have the time to figure out what was up with these ones. They had to run. They had to reach the jeep now or they would both die.

Suddenly, Howell stopped him with a palm on his shoulder. Ethan was fully prepared to shout at him when he said, “We’ll never make it at this pace. One of us has to stay behind and delay them for as long as possible. I’ll do it. Take care of the others for me.”

His carefully placed façade shattered and Ethan’s breathing hitched. He shoved Dan behind him and shoved the shotgun into Dan’s hand. “Take care of them yourself, Dan.”

Dan tried to give it back but Ethan shoved it away. “I’m giving you an order, Dan. Please, just go. I’ll hold them off.”

Dan tried to protest but Ethan didn’t listen. He had made up his mind. This was the best way. He started dashing to the horde, already nailing zombies square in the head. “Remember what I told you, Howell. Keep yourself alive and honor Phil’s memory. Now, go! Run!”

Dan didn’t have any choice. He ran, ignoring the groaning of the zombies and the pistol shots from Ethan’s gun. He kept running until the blasts died down and he kept running until he couldn’t hear Ethan’s screams anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope :) that was good :3  
> this was one of the first chaps written cuz we both knew from the start we wanted this to happen. we are sadists, aren't we? anyway, guess y'all have to wait for the next chapter to see horrifyingly-traumatised-dan


	10. Dan Becomes Leon S. Kennedy (In That He Can’t Drive, Not That He’s a Government Operative)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha cha cha cha miss us, lovelies? we're back, now with a healthy dosage of sean angst :)  
> (also the title was my idea yes im a leon stan if you dont know leon, man i dont know what to tell ya youre missing out)  
> \- sol

**[Day 8, Night]**

“Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.” Dan muttered angrily under his breath, climbing into the driver’s seat of the jeep. How the fuck he was going to drive, he had no idea. “Alright Dan, you know how to drive. You literally have a driver's license. You just haven’t driven for a good ten years. Fuck living in the city.”

Jamming the key into the ignition before turning it, he placed the car into gear, one foot on the break. “Ok. Right. Fuck safety rules.” His foot pressed the gas pedal violently, the sudden momentum of the car slamming him into his seat. “First of all, rude. Let’s fucking go.” Hands tightly clutching the steering wheel, his knuckles were white and his palms were sweaty. 

The nauseating stench of rotting flesh and blood was getting stronger and stronger, making Dan’s stomach turn with disgust. His brain couldn’t process anything, the screams of Ethan still ringing in his ears. He sacrificed himself. Ethan... Oh god Ethan. Why did he do it? Dan had volunteered to fight, yet he just rushed into that horde like it was nothing... How was he so carefree, even in the face of death? 

The zombies were getting close. Jesus, how fucking fast were they? They definitely weren’t this fast the last time they met. “LEAVE ME ALONE GODDAMNIT!” Dan yelled out of the window. “YOU PIECES OF SHIT CAN FUCK OFF!” Through the side mirror, Dan could definitely tell there were lesser zombies, and he almost laughed. “ETHAN REALLY KILLED MOST OF YOU DIDN’T HE? I’M GLAD HE SAVED SOME FOR ME!” He taunted, adrenaline surging through him, replacing the numbness he felt in his heart.

His laughter was becoming more and more raucous, loud and piercing. Heat was rushing into his face, his cheeks a bright pink. He could barely see anything, the headlights barely illuminating the front of the jeep. “This is  _ literally  _ the dumbest thing ever.” Dan muttered, narrowly swerving the jeep in an attempt to shake the zombies off. 

“OH FUCK OFF WILL YOU?” The zombies just kept coming, practically sprinting to catch up. “Now where’s that damn cottage…” Dan wracked his brain trying to remember the direction they had come from. “Oh wait, I’m a bloody idiot. There’s a GPS.”

He turned on the GPS, before clicking the home option. “Calibrating...Calibrating...In two hundred metres, please turn left.” Jerking the steering wheel violently to the left, Dan clutched the slippery steering wheel, clinging to it for dear life. 

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit.” He slapped the steering wheel frustratedly, groaning. Getting out his pistol, he aimed at the horde, pressing the trigger without thought. 

Occasionally glancing at the GPS in front of him, he followed the directions, shooting the zombies behind him. “Fuck, there are so many. Are they breeding _ right now _ ? Urgh, get a room.” Though he managed to get a couple of headshots, he felt unsatisfied. “There’s got to be a faster way to take them out. I can’t just  _ lead them  _ to the safe place.”

With that thought, something hit him. “What if...I just run them over?” The steering wheel felt slippery in his hands, his sweat affecting his grip. Dan didn’t care. He jerked the wheel once more, trying to aim towards the zombies as he slammed down on the gas pedal. 

The jeep slammed into the horde of zombies, the zombies almost instantaneously falling. The loud crunching and squelching bones and organs followed, something he wished he could bleach his ears after. To distract himself from the mess behind him, he yelled out, “Talk about roadkill, am I right?” He adjusted the gear back to reverse, jeep driving backwards to run over the zombies once more.

Dan couldn’t help but scrunch up his nose as the pungent odor wafted through the air. The rotting flesh made his eyes tear up. “Jesus Christ this smells awful.” Dan mumbled under his breath, unable to bring himself to speak louder. The groans were softer, but still there. “How are you guys still alive?” The tires felt slippery now, the blood and other strange, unidentifiable substances caking the tires. 

“Anyways, time to get back and...and tell the others the news.” The reality of the situation hitting him. “Ethan…” He turned to look at the shotgun Ethan had stuffed into his hand roughly. “He... He…” Dan froze up. His arms stiffened, the ache that was always there being much more painful than usual. He couldn’t think at all, autopilot turning on as he followed the calm directions of the GPS.  _ Thank you, GPS lady _ . He thought inwardly.

“Turn to the right and you will have reached your destination.” Dan mindlessly turned the steering wheel. “HOLY FUCKING SHIT TREE TREE TREE DAMMIT MOVE MOVE!” In the dark, he had not noticed the tree in front of the house. 

The jeep crashed into the tree. He went weightless for a second, before he was pulled back by the seat belt around his waist. Even through that, his head slammed on the roof, a dull thunk sounding out. His vision went dark for a second before his eyelids fluttered open to the wrench of metal around him. He looked around, careful not to impale himself on any metal. He thanked his lucky stars he wasn’t too banged up.

Stumbling out of the jeep, Dan dusted himself off. The cottage front door burst open, Mark and Jack walking out with a mix of concern and confusion.

Surveying the destroyed jeep, Mark sighed but Dan could see the concern in his eyes and relief in his voice that Dan seemed alright. “This is why we can’t have nice things.” 

Jack’s eyes lit up. “Ethan? Is he back? Dan…Dan, where is he?” He stood up on his tip toes, as if Dan was hiding Ethan behind him. “What - where is Ethan?”

Head bent low, Dan revealed a shotgun that he had behind him. It had been slung across his back while in the car. Even though it was uncomfortable as hell, he couldn’t let go of it, the last remainder of Ethan. “Ethan...Ethan’s gone.” His hand was trembling as he clutched it. “There was - there was a horde, too many of them. And Ethan - he, he sacrificed himself.”

Jack stumbled backwards, as if Dan had slapped him with his words alone. “G - Gone? Ethan’s gone?”

The small nod he was given made him tense up. Sean clenched his fists, turned back to cottage, and stormed back inside, leaving a stunned Mark, a trembling Dan, and a wrecked jeep.

\---

Feelings were never Sean’s strong suit. Having friends was never Sean’s strong suit. No one really gave a shit about him from a young age, only talking to him for his money. He grew up alone, pushing everyone away. It was safer for him that way. It was safer for everyone that way. He even came up with a fake name for everyone to call him by, making every interaction impersonal. 

But then, Ethan happened. Cheerful, hyperactive Ethan, whose eyes were always twinkling with mischief, crinkling in the corners with a constant smile. His comforting voice that broke down Sean’s walls, that offered him a  _ true  _ friend. He was such a happy person, such a  _ kind _ person.

And now... he was gone. A morbid part of him wasn’t surprised. It was such an Ethan thing to do, to dash into danger the first chance he got and sacrifice himself for the team. It wasn’t as if it was the first time he did this. Sean could see the trembling, sobbing Ethan in the corner of the room, Thomas’ body lying gruesomely on the bed in front of him. He saw it every time he closed his eyes. 

How could he have been so fucking blind? Everyone was dying. First Thomas. Then Phil. Only natural someone else would follow. But why did it have to be  _ Ethan _ ? Why? What messed-up chucklehead in the sky decided to take away someone as nice as Ethan.

He looked back outside, where Mark and Dan were still surveying the car wreck, talking in hushed whispers. Some vengeful part of him cried out, wishing that it had been Dan who’d martyred himself.

Shaking his head, he brushed that thought aside. He sighed, collapsing onto the sofa, burying his head in his hands. “Why Ethan…” His voice was soft and pleading. “Why him…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will take some more time. we've realised we've been leaning too heavily on dan angst and not giving others time to grieve so we need to reevaluate the timeline we've set out. anyway, if you'll look at our new flashy time markers we've added, we're on day 8, and as the title says, we have 5 days left so yee :)


	11. Angry Thoughts and Angry Thots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hfdkjfh remember us? also we completely take ownership for the homoerotic subtext, the story escapes us

**[Day 9, Morning]**

The world sucks. That was clear to Sean. It had always sucked, with racism and sexism and homophobia and all the other things that caused people harm. It now currently sucked, with 3 amazing people gone all because of a fucking zombie apocalypse. And as far as Sean could see, it would continue to suck for forever and ever and ever, because that’s how the world always worked and that’s how it would be for the rest of time. 

That’s why when Dan suggested for them to not stick to one house because it’d be easier for zombies to find them, he felt the overwhelming urge to punch him in the face. Sure, Dan was a lawyer, and lawyers were usually smart, but what was even the point of smart ideas in the face of a looming death? Everything was pointless.

“Where did that idea come from, smart guy?” Sean snapped, the roughness in his voice making Dan’s expression comparable to a deer in headlights. 

Dan bit his lip. “Just from observation. In the movies, they keep moving around to stay alive, right?”

“I don’t know, I don’t watch movies about zombies brutally murdering a group of guys’ best friends. You do?”

The fact that Dan had to think about it made Sean want to slap him. Then again, he didn’t think he’d be able to properly hit the absolute giraffe of a man Dan was in the face. Dan frowned slightly, brows furrowing before he responded. “Not that I can recall. Still, that’s just my suggestion. Got a better one?”

The silent challenge hung in the air, no one wanting to take it. Fuck, even Sean knew Dan’s strategy made logical sense. But he didn’t want to agree, because in a way, it was agreeing with the man who got Ethan killed, and he wasn’t going to do that. 

Finally, Mark broke the awkward silence. “It's a good point, Dan. We should get moving as soon as possible, it's better to travel in the day than at night. There’s more light. Ya know?”

Mark’s words always had a sense of finality to them, his deep voice always confident, like he actually knew what the fuck was going on, unlike the rest of the group. So though the quiver of uncertainty was obvious to the trio, it remained unmentioned. 

Sean shot out of his seat on the sofa, the roll of his eyes made to make his unwillingness known. “Well,” Hand on the doorknob, he opened it and stepped outside. “I guess we’re going now.”

Mark and Dan trailed after him, all three of them carrying a large backpack chock full of ammo, food and drinks. Mark often led them during these treks, but for once, Sean stormed ahead, not caring about how far the other two were behind him. It wasn’t like they couldn’t catch up. He just wanted to be alone.

The air was fresh, the scent of grass and nature as a whole surrounding the trio. It was a particularly windy day, mussing up their hair in an almost affectionate way. There were rolling fields that seemed to never end, brightly coloured flowers sprinkled everywhere, some lone and others in clusters. Even the birds were chirping, celebrating a new day with songs and cries of happiness. It was disgusting.

How could the world go on when one of the only people he’d trusted had died? One of the few people who’d actually given a damn about him...dead. How dare nature blossom while Ethan’s corpse was reanimated, his husk mindlessly rotting away? Everything was wrong. The world should be _mourning._ The sky should be cloudy, the flowers should be dead and the birds should be quiet. 

Sean let out a groan, running his hand through his hair roughly, as if he was going to pull it all out. His strides were long and powerful, giving off the illusion that he actually knew where he was going, the sense of purpose resonating from each step. Truth be told, the only purpose he could clearly manifest was to get away from everyone. 

He was right. The little 12 year old Sean was right. He just hurt anyone who got close to him. Either that or they hurt him. It just wasn’t worth it. His sharp nails dug into the palm of his hand, leaving their tiny imprints in it.

It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t he have friends? Why couldn’t people care more about him? Was it selfish to want that? Sean didn’t know. He resisted the urge to yell out, to throw something. Inwardly, he knew the others would look over at him if he did so, concern etched on their faces and pity practically seeping out of their eyes. 

“Are you alright, Jack?” Dan would ask in his posh English accent, one which made his voice so soothing to the ears and almost hypnotizing to listen to. 

“Jack, you gotta stay calm. Everything is going to be fine.” Mark would say, that deep voice of his oozing with confidence and sensibility that Sean was ever so jealous of, right from the moment they had met. 

He didn’t want that. Troubling people was stupid. People were stupid. This irrational anger surged through his veins, pumping through his body furiously. His face was red and hot, and he wanted to yell or scream or do _something._ But instead, he paused, squinted at the horizon through the bright spots of sunlight, and took a long, deep breath.

Zombies. It looked like there were around 6-7, practically sprinting towards them. “They - They weren’t this fast before…” Sean mumbled, before calling out to Mark and Dan, who were a little further behind. “I’m gonna kill them.” 

He dashed towards the horde, pistol out and aiming towards the zombies. A few bullets into their heads was enough to take them out, the monsters collapsing onto the floor. He was several metres in front of them when his running slowed down to a jog, and then a walk , till he finally stopped altogether.

Blinking, he stared at the zombie leading the pack, confusion in his eyes. It was Ethan. He was sure of it. Fluffy brown hair now straggly and messy, the bounce in his step reduced to a dead limping sprint, sparkling blue green eyes now glazed. 

He should have expected this. That was how zombies worked. They bit and killed someone, and that someone would turn into a zombie. That’s what would have happened to Thomas. It’s what most likely happened to Phil. And now, it was Ethan’s turn. A little voice murmured in his head: _Is he Ethan?_ It was a fair point. 

But this dead pale _thing_ was nothing like Ethan.

“You’re not Ethan.” Sean’s voice was cold. “You’re the complete opposite.” He raised his gun, aiming towards the zombie’s forehead, and violently pressed the trigger three times in quick succession. Just like that, zombie Ethan was on the ground.

The loud gunshots surrounded him as Sean stood there, staring at the zombie on the ground with an unnatural intensity. His eyes darted over its greenish skin, its tattered T-shirt and jeans, its exposed flesh, dripping with green blood like liquid. They finally arrived at its face, its eyes pale and empty, its mouth slightly open. He couldn’t help stare the three gaping bullet holes, the same liquid trickling out of them hypnotizing.

A soft murmur escaped his lips. “You’re not Ethan.” With that thought, he broke out of his stupor. Shooting up, he reloaded his gun, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he surveyed the field. He shot towards the ones left, the others having been killed by Mark and Dan. 

Finally, it was over. The zombies were all on the ground, contaminating the air with the odor from their rotten flesh. Jack found himself rooted to the ground, gasping for breath through the foul stench. His heart was beating so fast, he could hear it so clearly. The sound was somehow more deafening than the gunshots fired just a few moments ago, every beat piercing through his skull. He stood there, hands on his knees in a half squat, in a sort of shock he had never felt before. He wanted to scream, to storm around angrily, to rip apart a zombie from limb to limb. But he didn’t. 

A hand patted Sean’s back, rubbing up and down as if that would help soothe his nerves. “Everything will be alright.” It was Mark. “It's gonna be okay.”

Sean nodded shakily. He wished he believed it.

\---

**[Day 9, Night]**

The walk was long and arduous and before they knew it, it was night time. “I can’t see any houses. We’re lost.” Mark announced.

“Not like we weren’t lost in the first place.”

“Shut up, Howell.”

Dan shrugged, nonchalant. “Just saying. Do you think we could just sleep here?”He patted the ground. “We could take shifts.” 

They all agreed and Dan volunteered to take the first watch. Lying on the ground, Sean stared up at the sky. It was dark and infinite and the bright stars in the sky sparkled. He was hypnotized with it, and he kept staring at it when he spoke up. “Hey Mark? What do you think is gonna happen after all this?”

A small, thoughtful silence. “I think that after this entire shitshow, we can never go back to the same place we ever were.”

“Do - do you want it to go back to normal?”

“I liked normal.” Mark sounded unsure. “But I think - I think that if we come out of this stronger, if we manage to survive, then maybe it’d be worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ye boi. updates will be sporadic since the both of us have exams :')


	12. Much Testosterone, Much Wow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

**[Day 10, Afternoon]**

Droplets of sweat rolled down Sean's neck. They had been wandering around aimlessly for the longest time, bullets drilling into the heads of zombies and only the soda bottles and energy bars for rations.

He couldn’t take it anymore. This tired, aching feeling that had been slowly festering inside him was now spreading throughout his body, making every cell quiver with a sort of inexplicable frustration and rage. 

Mark stopped walking. They were in the middle of the Irish countryside and all Sean could see was the lush green fields. It just went on and on and on, the usually pleasant rich green exhausting his eyes from only staring at that particular shade for hours on end.

“We don’t know where the fuck we’re going. What’s even the point anymore?” Jack snapped. “We’ve been walking for so long, I am sick and tired of random ass zombies and I am sick and tired of not knowing where to go. It’s been what - 11, 12 days? I’ve had enough of all of it. I-”

Mark, hearing this, glared. He spun around and his voice was harsh. “Oh, you think that you’ve had it tough? Shut your mouth, Jack. I have been leading your ass from the moment we jumped off that fucking balcony. You think you have it rough? Fuck you.”

“Oh shut up, you piece of shit. The only person who actually gave two shits about me is fucking dead.  _ Dead.  _ You still have your friends, your family. I have no one.” Sean balled up his fists, stepping towards Mark in an emotionally charged, almost threatening way.

Carefully placing a hand on each of their shoulders, Dan gingerly pushed them away from each other. “Guys, guys, please. We can’t work like this. How are we supposed to survive an apocalypse if we can’t even get along?”

Shrugging the hand off , Sean stepped back, pointing towards the British man with a fire in his eyes. Fine, if Mark wasn’t going to listen, he’d give Dan a piece of mind too. “It’s your fault. Ethan died because of you. It’s because you were too fucking slow. You should have stopped him. It’s all your fault.” Sean felt the heavy weight lift from his shoulders. He finally said what he had been bottling up ever since Ethan left. Finally.

Dan’s expression was unreadable, his eyes slightly glazed and face pale. In a low voice, he said, “Do you think I don’t think that? You think I don’t spend every night awake, voices in my head eating me alive?” He laughed mockingly. “Well Jack, once again you are  _ dead wrong. _ You think Ethan dying was my fault? Listen here asshole, I think so too. So fuck you. You think you’re special, because you’ve lost someone important to you? Well guess what, you little shit? We all have problems. It’s time to survive long enough so we can fucking deal with them.” Dan looked on edge, as if his fight or flight instincts were going to take off at any moment. 

Sean didn't care. He pressed on. "Then why are you still here? What do you have to live for? You think  _ Phil  _ is still alive or something? He's not. Get it through your head that  _ Phil is gone. Phil _ -"

In a fit of anger, Dan grabbed Sean’s shoulders roughly. "Don't you dare say Phil's name. You don't have the right. Whatever the fuck you had going on with Ethan, is nothing - **nothing** compared to me and Phil. So don't even  _ try  _ comparing it." He pushed Sean away, refusing to look him in the eye. Sean could see tears threatening to spill down Dan’s face and he could hear the slight quiver in his voice. He knew he should feel bad but he could practically hear the contemptuous voice in his head declare one word, almost smugly:  _ Good. _

"Okay, stop it, both of you. Dan was right. We can't survive zombies if we can’t get along. So cut it out.” Mark told the two of them.

An awkward silence fell upon the trio. Letting out a huff, Sean ran a hand through his hair. He glanced to his side, where Dan was trying to subtly wipe the tears from his eyes, biting his lip in an anxious manner. One of his hands was clutching a pistol, rubbing his finger against it in a nervous manner. The other was by his side, trembling ever so slightly. Seeing this, something tugged at Sean’s heart. He decided to lay off apologising or arguing. After all, he certainly did not want to deal with an emotionally charged Daniel Howell. That much emotion was too much for him.

They continued along the way, occasionally pausing to sip the soda and nibble on the energy bars. Soon, night was approaching and everyone was exhausted. Sean could feel his legs shaking, though it ached relatively less than it had at first. 

“Hey guys, isn’t that a house?” Dan pointed to the front for his visually impaired companions, who both squinted ahead. It was extremely tiny in the distance, at the bottom of the hill that they were on. Sean brought out his pistol, loading it in caution for any dangers. 

They ran down the hill to the cottage. The door of it was broken down, with pieces of wood scattered around the doorway. Stepping inside, it was an absolute mess. Tables were flipped to their sides, plates were shattered and there was food on the floor, giving the room a pungent smell. Mark, who had his priorities straight, went to the kitchen to see if there was any food there. Sean decided to check out if there were any decent places to sleep.

Unlike the front door, the other doors in the cottage seemed fine.  _ They must have been eating when the zombies arrived.  _ Sean realized depressingly.  _ Another group of people’s lives ruined because of some fucking monsters.  _

__ “I’ll take the first watch.” He volunteered. 

Nodding, Dan walked to one of the rooms and shut the door. 

\---

Sean was leaning against the wall outside the cottage when Dan opened the door and slipped out, shotgun in his hand. Looking up, his eyes darted away when he spotted Dan. 

Dan stared at Sean, his brown eyes intense. They looked as though he was thinking very carefully, the analytical expression of one who didn’t want to trigger another. “I shouldn’t have snapped.” He looked away. “I know you’re grieving and you need time to mourn. I should have-”

“So? It’s not like you didn’t do it for Phil. You took all of the shifts, you shot empty bullets at a tree, you crashed the jeep. You weighed the whole group down, Dan. And no one mentioned shit. It took someone to die for you to snap out of it. Why can’t I grieve? Why can’t I feel sad, or frustrated when my friend dies? Is it selfish for me to want to do that?”

Dan flinched. “No - no one is stopping you from doing so, Jack.”

“Can’t you see? Are you fucking crazy? That’s what people have been doing to me my entire  _ fucking  _ life! Everyone tells me that showing emotion is weakness. That being different was  _ wrong.  _ No one took me fucking seriously when I did any of that. Why would you guys be any different?” Sean ran a hand through his hair, the other hand clenching his pistol, knuckles white.

“Because we are.” Dan’s volume was steadily rising. “Because we want to help you. Because we know what you’re going through. Because you’re our friend, Jack.”

Sean looked back at Dan. “R - Really?”

“Of course Jack. And I know Ethan would agree.”

“How would you know what Ethan would want? You didn’t know him. I did. And now he’s fucking gone. Forever.” Sean let out an angry sigh, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes frustratedly.

Dan did a double take. Was this what he had been acting like? Bitter and salty? He had to assume so. He took the shotgun in his hand and handed it to Jack. “I don’t know what he’d want, or what he’d think. I barely know him. But, you do. Would he agree with me?”

Sean hesitated, before nodding. “This…” He looked down, surprised. “He gave this to you before he - he died. Right?”

“I’m sure he’d want you to have this.”

Sean blanked. “Wasn’t - wasn’t this mine in the first place?”

“It’s a moment, Jack. Don’t ruin it.”

Sean laughed, but quickly sobered, touching the shotgun gingerly. “I - I’m sorry for mentioning Phil, Dan. I really shouldn’t have. It was insensitive, especially considering how close you two were and the fact that -”

“It’s fine.” Dan interrupted hurriedly. “Anyways, go back to the cottage and get some rest. It's my turn to take watch.”

Sean might have been hallucinating, but he swore he heard a sniff coming from behind him as he walked back to the cottage.

Maybe their shit wouldn’t be fixed, but it was a damn good start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, it feels pretty short but honestly props for kiki for actually writing this?? like i was in a Funk all week long but she sat down and wrote this despite our exams coming up? goals. speaking of that, i've gotta go study. bye bye now!


	13. Monsters and Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg long wait huh. who is even following this story?? i have no clue?? except for chai maybe but?? anygay final chapter lets go

**(Day 13, Morning)**

They ended up staying there for 2 more days than expected. Dan tried to convince the others that they needed to go with his lawyer powers, but the other two were having none of it.

"Dan, we need a bit more time to recharge." Mark or Jack would say, sipping on a mug of coffee.

"Recharging won't matter if the zombies find us." Dan tried to argue back and fight for his case, but in the end, they decided with a rather shoddy bit of democracy, where Dan was always outvoted. Democracy really was a failure as a government, huh? 

Dan knew what the other two were getting at, though. They didn’t want to encounter something so soon after the harrows of the past week. Every time Dan looked at a zombie, all he could see was Phil’s face. He knew the others were affected too, and they were “recharging” from the emotional toll it took on them. He got it, he really did. 

But if they didn’t leave soon, they might not even be able to make it out. Jack would bring up that they had nowhere else to go. So did the zombies, he’d try to argue but he was never able to find his voice. 

They were eating baked beans, warmed up courtesy of Dan himself. He glanced up at the other two, who were laughing and chatting. If he tried hard enough, he could trick himself into thinking they were in some alternate timeline where there was no apocalypse. 

Fuck, this was just like coming out all over again. If only he could just send an email telling them "LEAVE! GO ON, GET OUT!!" in large capital letters. But he couldn't. So he put down his spoon and looked at the both of them. He hoped the somber feeling he felt could seep out to his expression, to let them know they really do have to listen to him. 

"Guys, it's only a matter of time before they find us." Dan said softly, staring into his bowl with an intensity he did not know he had. 

He heard Jack sigh and Dan's nails, long and chipped, dug into the palm of his hand. "Dan, where do we even go?"

"Somewhere. Anywhere but here. I thought we agreed the zombies will find us if we stay here for too long?"

"We can afford to stay for a few more days, Dan. And I'd rather stay here with a roof over my head."

"But- but- " Dan couldn't get the words out. Where was his years of lawyer experience when he needed them?

"But what?" 

"I just…" Dan looked back down at his baked beans. "I don't want another - another Phil incident."

The two in front of him flinched, and when Dan looked up, pain was written on their faces. It was such a familiar expression, as if they had gotten it tattooed on them and was now there permanently.

"We leave now then." Mark said decisively and they all knew that that was that. 

Dan grabbed his backpack, already filled to the brim with food. They didn't have much ammo left, so they had to watch out. 

The nature and greenery felt familiar, the constant almost comforting even. Yet everywhere he looked, all he could think of and see was Phil's body, lying on the ground with his blank eyes and soft smile, Ethan running towards the hoard of zombies, gun blazing, Thomas' piercing screams that still shook him awake during the night. They haunted him. It was unfair, how they were able to escape the nightmares and horrors of the current world while the rest of them had to suffer. For a moment, Dan was jealous.

He shook it off. He didn’t deserve to be jealous.

\---

The groaning was what alerted them. It got louder and louder, the noise somehow invasive. And as they looked over to the stumbling horde, the vague annoyance and fear that plagued them felt less powerful. The routine of shoot zombie, run, shoot zombie, run comforted Dan ever so slightly.

“Fucking shit, this again?” Dan muttered under his breath, a hand running through his hair. The pungent stench of rotting flesh made him feel nauseous and dizzy, the sickening image of his friends’ deaths resurging in his mind like a zombie, clawing its way back inside his brain. 

Mark gagged. "They're close. And it sounds like a whole lot of them."

"Can we take them?We’re running out of ammo." The worry on Jack’s face was evident.

"Doubt it. Let's go." Mark started running in the opposite direction, before peering down the hill, stopping, and muttering something under his breath. "Guys?" He called back towards the others. "I think we're surrounded."

Dan swore openly. "Oh, that's fucking brilliant isn't it?" He loaded his pistol. It was such a familiar action, he shuddered. He never liked guns. They gave people far too much power. But as the zombies crept closer on all sides, he was grateful for the small metal object. It made him a little more in control.

Just a bit, though. The stench was overpowering now, and an image of Phil flashed through his head. He shook it out roughly. Focus. He had to live. Pulling the trigger strategically, he managed to take out zombies every couple of shots. He kept shooting, and kept going, until...

Click. Fuck. He ran out. And looking around, the others were running out too. He slowly backed away, till the three of them were back to back in the centre of the ring of zombies, all clawing and power-walking their way to them.

Dan's eyes darted from zombie to zombie, trying to think of something, anything that could get them out of this situation. Digging through his bag, he stumbled back, trying to find something  _ useful.  _ A small swiss army knife lay at the very bottom. Oh. 

He must have forgotten to discard the small blade. Though he had deemed it useless, there was no harm in trying. Brandishing the knife, he slashed wildly in an attempt to slow down the zombies. Green sludge trickled down the zombie's arm. He wasn't doing much, but he needed to do  _ something  _ to try not to die.

He could feel himself tearing up and he stared at the zombie centimeters away from him, warm tears streaming down his face. Was the floor moving? Looking down, his legs were trembling with more intensity than he had ever felt before. 

"I'm sorry Phil." he whispered, before his legs gave in and he collapsed on the floor. Shutting his eyes tight, entire body quivering, Dan prepared for his death. 

The loud bang of a shotgun snapped him out of his state. Something splattered all over him and when he used a finger to wipe it off, sticky green gloop covered it. Wait, what? Dan could feel his brows furrowed in confusion as he stared at the remains of the zombie. 

He looked up and spotted a group of soldiers running over, shooting the ring of zombies. The leader, a blonde man who tied his long hair back into a ponytail, stepped over the zombies, surveying the men in front of him. 

"Who are you?" Mark was the first to speak. 

The man brushed a stray strand of hair out of his face. "My name is General John McNamara, leader of the P.I.E.P.. We call it peep." He sounded American.

Dan furrowed his eyebrows. "I've never heard of you guys."

"And you never will," The general took a drag from his cigarette. "not a peep."

Dan must have looked bewildered as the general then patted him on the back and said, "That was a joke, son." 

"Anyways," He continued after an awkward pause, "I'll need your names. And any fatalities."

"Mark Fischbach." 

"Sean McLoughlin." He turned to Dan expectantly, not willing to utter the names of those who had fallen.

Dan sighed. "Daniel Howell. And our fatalities are Thomas Sanders, Ethan Nestor and - and Phil Lester." 

The general nodded once more, before ushering them down the hill and into a helicopter. Dan was stumbling every step of the way, covered in sweat, tears and zombie remains.

The blades of the helicopter started to turn and before they knew it, they were hovering in the air, the noise almost deafening. As Dan looked around the helicopter at his fellow counterparts, he couldn't help the corners of his lips tugging into the sliver of a smile. Sure, they may have permanent trauma from several of their friends dying. And sure, there was no more point in life because he lost his best friend and is only living on because that was what Phil would have wanted. But, for now, that was alright. They may have loads of undealt trauma, but everything will be fine. 

After all, they had survived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy. and 13dts is _over_
> 
> it's been a WILD ride, for both of us, it's been a blast working on this! but do not worry, for even though i now go by vidhya and i like atla now, there may be a sequel now ;) (and dont @ me on the name choice of the series i had 5 mins to think of one)
> 
> since both of us changed urls (and i names) here's our current stuff - [kiki](https://cardigancladpatton.tumblr.com) & [vidhya](https://bi-kyoshis.tumblr.com)! follow us blease.


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